


Young Lust

by yvette_cigarette



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets, The Strokes
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bars and Pubs, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Heartbreak, Hotel Sex, I keep changing the summary I’m sorry, Jealousy, Julian Casablancas is Alex’ ex-boyfriend basically, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Therapy, Wet Dream, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-03-20 04:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 95,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18984835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yvette_cigarette/pseuds/yvette_cigarette
Summary: A broken-hearted Alex finds himself stuck in the gloomiest of eras.After a drunken-night of misfortunate coincidence, two less-than-friendly musicians set into motion the most troubling of schemes.





	1. I guess that’s why they call it the blues

**Author's Note:**

> PEEPLE!  
> Retrospectively, I've found that his was a very self-indulgent fic. More or less a ventilation system for my own, silly me-things, all through Alex and Miles lmaoo, that's healthy.   
> WARNINGS: this fic deals very closely with mental illness - anxiety/depression, dark thoughts, however no mentions of self harm or suicide. Please read safely bc ily.   
> If you find anything else I may have forgotten to tag/overlooked, please let me know!  
> xx

1

Alex awoke amongst the nest of tissues he’d garnered the night before, safe and sound in his biodegradable haven. His ribs seemed to disentangle as he sat upright from the yoga pose he’d fallen asleep in, the moment his chin was parallel to the ground he felt the weight of an iron helmet attached itself to his head. As he swung his legs over the sofa, he sat, gravitated by the weight of a million worlds. The late morning sun shot proudly through this still drawn curtains, leaking an unkind glow directly into his irritated eyes. As Alex stood, a glassy shroud of empty bottles at his feet, he reached for the sky with a hefty yawn. Surrounding the musician breathed his messy flat, the weight of disregard grounding the man with cruel reality. 

 

The shower he took did little if anything to subside his recent devotion to gloom. The blues of breakup had tagged along for all of this unending week. It had followed Alex home from that bar last night, fastened itself tight to his dreamless crash, and was always waiting for him in when he awoke...just that much more audible. After Alex had completed the impossible task of shampoo, he realised he’d spent the last five minutes staring at his feet. The soap and bubbles that were sucked under his toes and down the inescapable drain, the way the too-hot water stung his stiff shoulders - the way he didn’t care. He noticed the steamy glass walls around him, encasing the shower, the aquarium of condensation making him feel weightless, but not really. He drew a face on the steamy glass aside from him, the heated spots where his fingers had touched dripped, making the sad face he’d sketched weep. 

As he stepped out of the steamy room, Alex secured his last clean towel to his famous hips and made for the coffee maker. He set the machine to work but  began to realise that he had no interest in tasting caffeine or anything really, that wasn’t Julian. He swallowed hard, refusing to fall apart this early into the day.

As the obnoxious buzz worked hard to procure Alex’ rush for the day, he decided to go and dress his suddenly unbearable body. As the ghoulish boy padded through his carpeted bedroom, washed hair speckling his pale band tee with water droplets, he decided to snatch his phone off his dresser on the way out. Alex pulled up a stool at the counter, in one hand he held coffee so strong it’d put his ex-boxer bandmate to shame, and in the other was his barely charged phone. Upon sliding to unlock Alex found two messages from Matt, the first asked:

_ ‘Hey man...how have you been doing?’ _

Alex’ head sunk between his shoulders, elbows pressed to the surface as he shut his eyes and released a shuddered breath. He’d accidentally given thought to Matt’s question, how  _ was _ he doing? Oh god -  _ abort _ \- too hard to think about and too overwhelming to possibly form a reply, so he decided it was a battle for later. The second message, sent about an hour ago read:

_ ‘Hey Al, gave you a ring but no answer, you need to see this shit…’ _

Alex squinted at the pale screen and under this bizzare text was a link, he tried to imagine what Matt believed was worth going anywhere near social media for. He rolled his eyes and tapped the screen as he took a healthy swig of espresso, as he held the mug to his mouth he caught the unmistakable blue bird appear on his screen.  _ Twitter, we meet again. _

He sighed and prepared himself for the inevitable bullshit, placing his empty cup into the sink as the screen loaded. He was ready to close the site the second it developed meaning, the crossed corner under his finger, ready to escape...but suddenly the arrangement of letters on screen spelled out to him to stick around. It was a tweet about him, not an uncommon occurrence, but what simmered Alex’ blood was who the conveyor of said tweet was.

**@** **_MilesKaneMusic:_ **

_ ‘A mate dragged me to this...closest exit please?’  _ Attached was an image of Alex’ last local gig wherein he has caught an audience member’s bra…

“Son of a...” Alex gritted through his teeth as he reread the tweet, this was certainly not the first Alex had heard of Miles Kane’s opinion on him. Though Miles had never bothered The Monkeys, he’d made jabs at Alex and his stage persona in the past. Alex bristled, and for a moment he forgot his broken heart. He sighed and felt his hangover yelling at him to go over every detail of the breakup again, so in turn, Alex found himself fighting once again to not think about Julian. But the scream of days occupied with Radiohead and the weight of booze still stung his system, even if only the memory. Alex jumped when his phone buzzed alive in his hands, it was Matt calling him.

Alex took a breath and brought the phone to his ear, trying to drop the post breakup tone as well as his Miles Kane induced infuriation. 

He cleared his mind and throat, but once he’d tapped answer, he wasn’t sure how to begin. 

“...Alex?” Came the uncertain sound of his friend after too much silence, Alex could hear that he was out and about which made him feel pathetic, glancing around his messy flat and own emotional whereabouts. 

“ _ Alex _ ?” Matt pressed firmer, snapping the boy out of it. “Yes-yes, sorry, I’m ‘ere.” He assured, moving to take a seat over on his littered sofa. “Are ya home?” Matt asked him, Alex sat and ran a hand through his drying hair. “Erm, yeah...” He replied dumbly, digging through the cushions for his cigarettes. “Okay, good.” Was Matt’s reply, punctuated by the dial tone. Alex pulled the phone from his ear and frowned at the ended call, but then came a melodic knock on his door.

“Al,  _ mate _ , you look like shit!” Matt kidded as he pulled the smaller man in for a good ole’ I’m-sorry-your-boyfriend-dumped-you hug, “wow, thanks.” Alex grunted against his mate’s shoulder, Matt let off and held Alex either arm, examining the lad. Alex knew the drummer would see through his amourless transparency instantly, so he looked away uncomfortably.

“Eh, come in.” Alex wavered awkwardly, Matt followed and shut the door behind him, watching his friend retrieve to the couch. Sinking into the plush cake of a sofa.

Matt wandered into the space hesitantly, “Jesus Al, I’d ask for a beer, but I reckon’ they’re all ‘ere on the floor.” Alex made no effort to hide the remnants of his minor meltdown last night, simply avoided eye contact and tried to hold himself up. Matt took in his friend, the eyes of undeniable heartbreak, the skin encasing them red and swollen, like he’d cried all night. Julian had done quite a number on him. 

“Okay. That’s it.” Matt declared, pulling out his phone purposefully. Alex’ head shot up quizzically, “Wot? What’re you doin’?” He asked as he sat up, “ _ I, _ ” Matt began matter-of-factly, clearly typing faster than the speed of light. “-am getting you out of this.” Alex stood up and moved over to where his friend texted, “wot does tha’ mean?” Alex asked as he attempted to read what his friend wrote, “it means get your coat, we’re goin’ drinking, Nick’s buying.” Alex grunted obnoxiously and pivitted back to the sofa, “ugh, no. Thanks - but, no.” Alex said as he began pulling the couch apart, searching for his cigarettes. Matt looked over at his friend, “Alex…” He began, moving over to watch the lad digging under the cushions, “I know your probably hurtin’, but I reckon you need this.” Matt’s phone lit up, it was a text from Jamie confirming that he’d meet up with the other three. “Look, I know yer heart’s in the right place Matt,  but I can’t -  _ ah _ gotcha!” Alex jeered when he found the cartin, he plucked one and placed the wicked thing between his lips. “Light?” Alex asked, refusing to search for his. Matt sighed and shook his head, “C’mon Alex, you…” he pulled his lighter out and lit the beast, waving the smoke away as Alex took a heady drag. “-you need this. You ‘aven’t been out since...” He trailed off, then sighed. “You’ll thank me.” Alex closed his eyes and let the embrace of nicotine engulf him, he thought about the prospect of being outside - it troubled him. But there would be alcohol...and noise, perhaps the roar would offer him cover from his mind. 

Alex grunted in defeat, “ _ alrieght _ .” He conceded gruffly, “lemme grab me coat.” 

2

The thrum of unimaginable colour and sound pierced through Alex quicker than the whiskey in his glass. He loved the lads, but he needed a break from their eyes. Nothing but pity was found in the small talk barely heard over the music, he adored every attempt the guys made to cheer him up or drag him out of himself, but he’d realised the moment he and Matt had united with their bandmates that he couldn’t fucking do this.

“I, er…m’gonna go for a piss.” Alex said in between songs, Jamie and Nick were preoccupied with their own conversation, but to it Matt smiled and nodded. Alex grinned back forcefully and slid off his barstool, not looking back as he was certain all of his friend’s eyes were on him. He’d tried to spend the first hour brightly, pretending he wasn’t in nauseating pain. But as the evening progressed Alex found himself incapable of make believe, not this early. Alex slipped around sweating body after body, running his hand through his hair, uncomfortable yet too tired to run away. As he passed the end of the bar, his friends far behind, Alex noticed something. He was used to the second looks and lingering gazes by this point in his career, but the eyes that sank into him from across the room belonged to the man he unfortunately loved. Alex stopped, he hated himself for it, but he couldn’t bring himself to move again. Julian looked great, as always. The breakup looked good on him, he was dressed to impress, though he’d attract Alex in a trash bag. Alex’ breath hitched when he realised his ex-boyfriend was making his nonchalant way over, his palms clammed and his heart thrummed pathetically - still mending itself. 

Fuck. He couldn’t do this. Not here, not now, in this stupid bar with this stupid heartbreak. Suddenly Alex began to panic, Julian was meters away from shattering him. And then he was right there, in front of Alex. Smudged and looking like any teenager’s wetdream, the split up suited him. And Alex hadn’t been the only one to pick up on it. He had seen photos floating around this past week of Julian with a couple different faces, he supposed the ending of their relationship had worked out well for him. Alex’ body charged with anger and resentment suddenly - about fucking time. “Hey, you.” Julian said, the depth of a kiddy pool in the words he spoke. Alex seethed at his casual state, had he no clue Alex had drank and cried himself to death over him last night? His entire body felt unwelcome suddenly, how could someone he’d devoted so much fucking brain power to, offer so little?

Alex didn’t say anything, he realised he couldn’t. 

“How’ve you been?” 

“Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Alex snapped, suddenly completely aware and completely alive. “I’m actually ‘ere with someone, so-”

“Oh, are you?” He asked Alex, like he didn’t actually believe him - it set Alex to stun. He bit his tongue and nodded, wanting to explode just so he could kill the man, make him pay for this disregard. “Y-yes.” Alex suddenly became aware of two things. First, Julian’s attention to him had spiked, giving him all the high he could ever want. And Two: his hand that was blindly grabbing a man behind him sitting at the bar, Alex moved backwards as he literally pulled the stranger off the stool and into his arms.

“Jules- Julian, I mean -” Alex began nervously, “this, is me new boy-” but the title turned to mush in his mouth the second he gazed upon his lie. His eyes widened and his stomach dropped, “-friend…” He finished, as the not-so-stranger’s eyes looked back at him incredulously. 

“This…” Julian said, wide eyed, “this is your boyfriend?” 

He looked back at his ex, Alex managed the face of a statue while the anxiety of an ocean spun inside his guts. He knew he’d fucked it up, the man he clutched would rad him out - any second. 

“Miles fucking Kane.” Julian said, clearly not liking at all how it sounded on his tongue. Alex held his breath and looked back at the man in question. Miles Kane. In his embrace, looking down at Alex blankly. The Miles Kane who despised Alex, the Miles Kane who wrote cruel things online about him. Miles Kane who Alex now depended on. Alex’ stomach was a bag of ice, his body was nerved and wound tight, oh fuck-oh-fuck-oh-fu-

“In the flesh!” Miles gushed socially, cracking that famous grin as he extended a poisonously friendly handshake. Alex’ heart resumed from it’s halt and his breathing stabilized, though it hitched when he felt Miles’ arm wrap around him. “It’s always nice to meet Alex’ _ buddies _ .” Miles grinned, he would never know how unbelievably perfect he was going about this. 

Julian smiled appropriately, shaking the offered limb, “Julian.” He said, looking back at Alex who hadn’t missed the disarmament in his demeanor. “How, uh, how long have you two been…?” The lostness in his voice had Alex beaming - it was working. Just as he opened his mouth however, Miles was filling in the space for him. “Well, I mean I’ve ‘ad a crush on the guy for fuckin’ ever.” He began generously, looking at Alex, who blinked at him. 

“But I mean, the shaggin’s a recent development, aye Al?” He stuck on, squeezing the lad close. Alex choked on the drink he didn’t have and tightened his smile, “s’righ’.” He confirmed, still rather dazed, and honestly grateful Miles had taken the lead.

Julian nodded, but Alex could see the cogs turning behind his eyes, he could tell this was oddly working. “Well, you two, you have yourselves a nice night.” He strung together awkwardly, reeking with embers of jealousy. Before Alex could do or say more, Julian was turning and had his back to them as he disappeared completely.

Alex audibly sighed, closing his eyes as he dug his hands into his hair. Feeling the world shut off. Oh god, oh-god-oh-god-oh-god.

How could he have done this? To the man he knew he loved? Alex didn’t do this, he wasn’t like this. “Jeez, coulda cut the tension with a knife.” Came the voice that  popped his self deprecating bubble, Alex opened his eyes and found Miles’ arm no longer around him. “Jesus-fuck…” Alex growled as he stared at his feet, forgetting how to breathe. He felt his chest clench, and his fortress crumble. What the hell was the thinking? The guilt coiled comfortably in the pit of his gut, he took some important breaths. “Er, you alrigh’?” Miles asked, as he turned to face Alex who looked halfway to nowhere.

Alex pulled himself together, into his body and into this sweat-pool of a bar. “The fuck do you care?” Alex spat, crossing his arms as he glared icily. Miles’ head cocked back in surprise, then came a scoff. “S’it always this hot an’ cold with you, Turner?” Miles muttered, crossing his own arms, eyeing the other musician closely. “Tell it to your fucking tweeter.” Alex said, the mispronunciation going over his head. Miles pursed his lips around a smirk, he nodded bitterly, eyes fixed on him. Alex gave Miles the once over, he certainty dressed as forwardly as behaved. He stood certain and strong, the clothes of a rockstar, ornamented accordingly. A strong nose and stronger bones against dark hazel orbs that Alex realised were on him, he blinked away and the pleasant sensation of observation was flushed away by his own resentment for the wanker before him. “Have a nice night, Turner.” Miles said after a beat, annoyance reverberating from the words as he moved back to his spot at the bar. Part of Alex felt like maybe he should say more, a thank you or a fuck you? Definitely one or the other. He decided against both and instead settled on finding his friends to tell them he needed to go home, his bladder would wait. Alex didn’t bother with a second glance over his shoulder as he left - certain he’d spend the rest of his days far away from Miles Kane. 

He stuffed his fists into his jacket pockets as he stormed away, deciding his empty bed outshone the likes of this place. 

3

Alex awoke the next morning with less sting in his chest, perhaps it was the fact that he’d actually slept in his bed, and not the couch. Details of last night’s charade swelled tight around his temples as he yawned himself awake, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. Once he’d checked the time and replied to a message from his Mum, a notification banner dropped just as he was going to turn his phone off indefinitely. It was another link sent from Matt, was this going to become a regular thing? The bright screen was a stark contrast to the dim bedroom, Alex frowned at the screen, the text attached read:

_ ‘You wanna tell me what the the fuck this is about?’ _

_ Alex _ tapped the ungodly link and suddenly his phone was full of an image posted online. Alex tasted bile as he regarded the image. Disbelief accompanied his shock and nausea, his eyes widened. He sat up abruptly as he clutched the phone. His heart hammered as he assessed the blurred photo. 

Him - and Miles Kane - last night, all buddy-buddy, arms all over each other, the most incriminating expressions of ‘love’ slapped on their phony faces. Alex made the unfortunate mistake of scrolling down to read the post’s comments, he cringed at himself for this uncharacteristic gush over the very online world he worked so bloody hard to avoid. To his honest surprise, the response to this - and the duplicates - of this photograph were positive. All ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ punctuated by tag after tag. So much love for ‘their love’, it made him uneasy, he rubbed a hand across his forehead. Feeling himself space out a bit. It was one thing to lie about Miles simply in the spirit of making Julian jealous, but was he really prepared for the world to fall for this? 

Alex looked at the image closely, the photo’s owner had cropped Julian out - which he felt oddly offended by - and what remained was Miles and himself. Wrapped in each other’s arms, happy and plain - as if it were the most normal thing on earth.

Next came something Alex never would have expected, he tapped the notification with disbelief and read the text:

_ ‘It’s Miles. Can we talk?’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly gave myself an aneurysm trying to come up with a title, settled on a Pink Floyd song. 
> 
> \+ chapter title is Elton John.


	2. Gouge Away.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cHaPtEr tWo! thank you for the encouragement/positive comments <3 kudos are appreciated!

1

The cafe buzzed with the scent of caffeine and cinnamon scrolls, this place was Alex’ little secret, it seemed to always hush to the perfect volume in both people and chatter Tuesday mornings. So he’d begrudgingly decided to sacrifice this week’s sanctuary as a meeting point. The silver of overcast encasing the city wasn't exactly helping Alex’ glum. As he’d text Kane the cafe’s address he had held his breath, sending his happy place away. 

He decided he’d make it quick. He’d hear Kane’s lecture, presumably coated in resentment for having dragged him into this, and then they’d discuss their ‘breakup’. It’d need to be big, not so public that it’d taint either of them, but loud enough to stick. Alex sighed, it was all he could do for now. He was seated in his is usual corner for two, gazing through the glass window, up through the trees that split the sky. Alex caught himself often spacing-out since the breakup, if he thought he was a deep thinker before...He took a sip from his flat-white as he watched gentle tree limbs being embraced by the soft breeze, he let his mind wonder as he waited for Miles. He felt his lip curl into an amused smirk as he regarded the entire situation, hearing the soft hiss in the background of milk being steamed, what a thing he had done. He hadn't changed his mind. Alex still wanted Julian to pay, somehow he’d have Julian just as miserable as he’d made Alex. But Miles wasn't the way, he’d never meant to be anyway. Miles Kane and Alex Turner, what a laugh.

Once again, Alex found himself sinking numbly into inanimate objects, for this moment: the silver teaspoon on the coffee’s plate. The alloy sugar vessel coated in milk froth, still little grains of sweetener stuck there. His heart squeezed the second he realised he’d forgotten his gloom, because honestly, these days he felt almost dependent on the sadness. This entire week seemed to have catapulted Alex into Picasso’s blue period, which he can’t be all bitter about because honestly--  “ _ Alex. _ ” Snapped the impatient address of greeting, his head shot up from the teacup scene that had captivated him to no end - effectively snapping him out of it.

Across the small coffee table he found his corduroy tormentor, brows raised expectantly. Miles’ hair, Alex realised, was longer than he’d first assessed. It framed his face in way a that made his skin paler, but not sickly, like something softer than his stage persona. “H-hey.” Alex said, rather firm. Miles gave him a weird smirk and slid out of his thick coat, as he hung it around the back of his chair he took a seat across from Alex. “You don’t mind if I eat right?” He asked, placing  the order number on the table for the waitress to see. 

“No, that’s fine.” Alex said monotone, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. In an attempt to still his fidgeting, he took a sip from his milky coffee, when he lowered his mug he found the other man’s eyes on him. Alex blew a breath out and crossed his arms over the table, “So.” He began, with nothing more prepared. “Yes.” Miles said as he pulled his chair closer to Alex, as if he were on the verge of relaying a secret. Now that they were slightly closer, Miles pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I wanted to show you summat.” He said as he opened his photo gallery, Alex watched the lad lean in and squint to navigate through is phone, his dark mod hair un-tucked and loose. Alex scoffed and leaned back in his seat, “if it’s the photo of us from last nigh’, I've seen it.” Miles didn't look up when he said, “no, s’not tha’.” Alex frowned in confusion.

“Okay - here, look.” Miles held his phone over the table for Alex to see, he inclined to see what it was Miles wanted him to. Alex stared for a moment and then looked up at Miles. His eyes seemed to have deepened once again, it hurt, being abused by those ember orbs. “I-I don’t...what are you showing me?” He asked with honest annoyance, was there a point to anything he did? Alex wondered bitterly.

“This is me timeline.” He said simply, “that’s twitter, this one’s instagram…” he said as he swiped across the screen, more and more graphs depicting his social influence filled the screen, Alex felt an unsettling knot spin inside. “Wow.” Alex said flatly, “that include the shit you post about me, or?” Miles scoffed and shook his head as he put his phone away, “seriously, Kane, why should I care?” Alex asked, zero effort to sound pleasant. He dead panned at Miles, was he seriously using this catch up as a boasting port? “Well...” Miles began, Alex noted the anticipatory height in his tone. He knew something big must be coming, for him to have not once insulted Alex yet. “I ‘ave a business proposal.” He began, leaning in secretively. 

“That’s one breakfast burger?” Asked the clipped tone of an unamused waitress, her atomic blonde pulled into the highest of ponytails. “Oh-yeah, right ‘ere, thanks.” Miles replied, disregarding both the woman and the meal as she retrieved. Once the two were alone, Miles tucked in, continuing his apparent proposition. “The way I see it, Alex…” here he took a colossal bite out of his meal, Alex made a disgusted face as Miles chomped away. He leaned back and watched the irritation eating across from him. When Miles had swallowed he wiped his mouth with a napkin, “we can both benefit from his situation.” The knot in Alex’ gut tightened, “what’re you on about?” He said, unfortunately beginning to see where Miles was going with this. The lad wiped his hands and smiled tightly at Alex from across the space, “you  _ know _ wot I'm talking about.” The air between the two men stilled, and a contemplative silence rolled in. Miles scoffed and sat forward, “don’t think I haven’t picked up on the game you’re playin’, Turner.” To that Alex glared, biting the sides of his cheek. He thought on it, on Miles’ motives. Judging by the rising charts on Miles’ phone that Alex had been bombarded with, he concluded that Miles intended to use Alex similarly to how Alex was using him.

Alex sighed without grace, he looked away, out the window once more. “I...I’m not saying yes…” he said and Miles lit up, “but you aren’t sayin’ ‘no’.” He winked, making Alex taste copper. As Miles finished the remainder of his burger Alex considered what Miles was offering him. Was he insane? Of course, Alex had been the one to initiate the entire coax, though he’d never had the intention of upholding the charade. But to lie to the world as well as Julian? Did he need his ex wounded so bad? Was he so cruel? Quickly the coolness of consideration was knocked out of Alex’ system the moment Julian’s face flicked on, and soon the sting of revenge leaked into his conscience. The way he made Alex feel, still tingly and light, though now not without the clench of betrayal. What once was champagne in the veins of their relationship, seemed as only icy water now. But Alex could get that back, he’d just need to show Julian what he’d given up - shove Alex’ capability in his face.

“Okay.” Alex breathed, “let’s do it.” Miles rubbed his hands together, “alrighty.” He grinned, “there are those bad-boy balls you pretend to have.” Miles smiled bitterly, and Alex decided the exchange was over. “Go to hell.” Alex snarled, standing as he slipped his coat over his shoulders. He looked down at Miles who smirked amusingly up at him, Alex  _ hated  _ that. “I’ll let you settle the cheque.” He smiled sweetly, stuffing his cold hands into his pockets as he left Miles, half expecting him to curse Alex for it. He didn't. As the boy closed the cafe door behind him, the brisk breeze hitting his unwashed hair, Alex waited for the whisper of regret to seize him. But it didn't.

2

As Alex made his way home, the frigid chill of today’s climate reddening his cheeks, he tried to completely grasp his situation. He spent a great deal of his walk home double-checking with himself - trying to dissect the meeting he’d just had. He tried to feel bad about it, to imagine guilt  where ambition and drive had began blooming.

Alex realised that no matter how he spun it - no matter how many holes he poked into their plan - Alex’ own anguish for Julian trumped any and all feelings of doubt. He wanted to do this. The idea of doing anything with Miles Kane nauseated him, but if this was how he’d show Julian what he was missing - make him want Alex - then he was confident the lie was worth in.

Alex felt the vibration of his phone, he pulled the device from his pocket and held it to his ear. “Hullo?” He said, taken back by how exhausted he sounded. “Alex - hey, it’s Matt.” He sounded normal, but careful-normal, Alex had become far too accustomed to that tone. He could tell Matt’s call was motivated, “er, hey, how are you?” He asked timidly, trying to dodge the conversation he felt coming on.

“Er, yeah, good...look, Al...I wanted to ask you about summat.” Alex held is breath as he walked, he was close to his home, absently fantasizing about his central heating. God, he could just feel the ambience of warmth already. He’d take off these ass-hugging jeans and slip into tracks, turn on the telly and sleep...sleep forever. 

“Shoot.” He replied nonchalantly, bracing himself for impact. 

“Righ’, well...” it wasn't like Matt to delay...

“Spit it out, Helders.” Alex joked, needing desperately to swallow this pill.

“Erm, are you an’ Kane…” Alex climbed the steps to his flat, digging through his pockets for the key. “Are me an’ Kane wot? Matt.” He asked, suddenly incapable dodging. As Alex locked the front door behind him and toed off his boots, he decided that the quicker this was over, the quicker he could breathe again. “For god sake,” Matt growled - mostly at himself - “are you with  ‘im?” It was like being punched to the gut, Alex removed the noose of a scarf around his neck and flopped onward onto the sofa, grunting like an animal into the phone. What a thing he was about to confirm, he fought to not melt into a puddle of revolt. “Y-yeah, yeah, I’m...I’m with ‘im.” Oh Jesus, that hurt. 

“Oh.” 

“W-what does that mean?” God, why did he care? Every bone in Alex’ body told him to shut up. 

“No, no, I joost...I mean, I guess I didn’t expect it.” Alex turned onto his back and gazed up at his pale ceiling, the dusty-blue tone staring down at him with equal captivation. He realised he’d need to sell the relationship, and that this conversation was only a minor dose of what he and Miles would soon be feeding the world. He took the quietest breath he could, “I know.” He began, closing his eyes. He thought back to his morning with Miles, the event stirred him. Miles’ tardiness, his lack of manners, his stupid eyes - burning Alex with no mercy. Nothing nice in him.

“He’s actually really...cool.” Shit, the uncertainty soaked right through. 

“Really.” Matt asked flatly, Alex understood it - fucking agreed with it - but he’d have to kick-start this lie eventually...he just wished Matt wasn't his first casualty.

“No, I mean it.” He squeezed his eyes tight, “he’s funny an’ smart...it’s still early, but...Matt, he means a lot to me.” A disbelieving silence, Alex’ heart sank. 

“Well, alright...if you like ‘im.” He understood Matt’s head space, it wasn't like they could forget Alex and Miles’ unfriendly history, it was the greatest of elephants in the room, but Alex couldn't bring himself to bring it up.

“Thanks, Matt.” Alex swallowed thickly, the rods of guilt clenching his shoulders as he grasped composure. Alex held the phone to his ear, and with the other pulled a cigarette out of the carton sitting next to him, on the coffee table between he and the television. “Look, I gotta go man, we’ll talk soon, yeah?” He said around the smoke between his lips, “Yeah, definitely, ‘ave a good one.” When Matt’s voice disappeared, Alex slid his phone across the low table, as far away as he could. He took the cig from his mouth and cradled the wicked tool between his cold fingers. Trying to forgive himself for the lie he’d now, officially initiated. 

3

Later on into that evening, Alex had recklessly committed to a Breaking Bad binge - complete with a thick winter blanket, half-assed Lasagne, and a glass of rosé. He’d fallen asleep on the couch after ten, exhausted with the reality he and Miles hadn't even yet spun. His mind was made up, he would make Julian eat dirt, and then kiss his ass, in more ways than one. He could just taste the satisfaction of it all, the high of making Julian see him for the desirable boyfriend he was. Never mind who would be his accomplice in said scheme. Because in the end- not soon enough - Alex would be done with Miles, and Miles with him. A business exchange in the spirit of greediness, benefiting both parties. Alex’ mind had slowed to a still recover, the protests of pain and plot draining as the first wave of fatigue anchored him to his sofa, Walter White acting in the position of White noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she's a slow burner.
> 
> chapter title: Pixies.


	3. how do you sleep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> III 
> 
> If this does tickle your fancy, let me know! Love that sweet, sweet validation.
> 
> Kudos are also muchas gracias B)

1

**_He’s_ ** _ mounting Julian. _

_ Driving into him with punishment equal to the force of hunger. _

_ Julian is squealing under him, clutching the linen as Alex fucks him senseless. _

_ In this place there is nothing foreign about Jules bottoming for Alex. _

_ All of Alex’ repressed desire to no longer be the one fucked rushes to the surface.  _

_ It is Julian who writhes and moans helplessly under Alex, around his cock. Praising his unforgiving thrusts, insisting that his ass belongs to Alex. He dominates the creature that, in another place and in another way, dominated him. _

_ “A-Alex, oHh god, baby-” _

Alex sprung into the rhythm of reality all at once, his stomach tightening as he abruptly sat up. His spine straighter than a plank, breathing as sharp as it is deep, his eyes cloud as he gazes down at his stiff hands, little half moons stamped by his nails to the sweaty palms. Alex blew a shuddered breath out as he felt the last waves of pleasure leaving his system, the citrus of desire faintly swelling tight between his hips. He frowned resentfully down at his hard-on, infuriated that he’d allowed himself to wet-dream about his ex. This fact shouted that Alex still stung in that sweetly painful way for Jules, it was Julian's skin, Julian’s eyes and Julian’s mouth that still occupied his mind. It wasn’t like he could just drop that bond, people don’t just fall out of love. 

Alex pulled his knees to his chest, failing to distance himself from the echoes of dream-Julian’s moans and pleads for Alex to-  _ “Come, oHh, come inside me!’ _  He shook himself firmly, snap out of it Turner.

Alex spotted 5:54 AM on his analogue, there was no way he’d allow himself to fall back asleep. So he reached across to the night stand and clasped his phone, deciding he needed assistance in calming both himself and his  _ situation _ down. Alex tapped the meditation app and set the phone down in front of him, crossing his trembling legs as he got comfy in his warm covers, shutting his foggy eyes. 

_ ‘Hello, and welcome...we’re going to start off with some deep breaths…’ _

Throughout the ten-minute session, Alex felt himself loosen up incrementally. First his facial muscles slackened, allowing his features to relax. Then the tension between his thighs cooled it, along with the rest of all  _ that.  _ Overall, he’d been revived. And clarified with himself that he was allowed to fuck-around with the idea of topping Julian, but understood it to be fuckery and nothing more. He wasn’t even certain he wanted Jules back - though, if last night’s episode of misplaced lust had anything to say about it...he did - but that was...fantasy, and fantasies don’t come with the weight of consequence. 

_ ‘And now, I want you to focus on your breathing...take the time to recognise how your body feels in this moment _ ...it’s important that we take the time to—’

—Alex nearly had a stroke when the soothing reverberations of wind chimes was macheted away by the sound of his ringtone. He’d jumped, and subsequently felt his entire body clench right back up again - effectively expelling any and all Zen form Alex’ system. 

Without checking the caller ID - instinctively needing the noise to stop - he held the phone up to his ear, catching his startled breath. “H...hullo?” Alex breathed, half panting as he held a palm to his heart.

“G’morning light of my life.” Chimed Miles sweetly, Alex’ blood boiled, his eyes shot open and he clenched his fists.

“It is six in the morning, you foockin’  _ psychopath _ .” Alex spat through the phone, hoping his voice would travel through to the other end and injure Miles permanently. “Wot, the hell is it?” He asked through gritted teeth as he let the remnants of all calm wear off, giving way for his usual anxieties. “We’re goin’ out.” Miles informed Alex simply, “Wot? Where?” Alex muttered under his breath as he swung his feet off the mattress, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he pulled woolly socks over his icy feet. “Picnic.” Was all that came from the other line, with his feet properly layered, Alex stood and tried stretching out his anxiety. “Picnic?” He grunted through his yawn, he held the phone to his ear as he left the confines of his bedroom, and made for the kettle. “Why, on god’s green earth would we do tha’?” He asked, almost forgetting himself, the part he had committed to play. “ _ Because, _ ” Miles droned, the sound of boiled water screaming in the background - Alex supposed Miles had the same idea as him. He placed the English Breakfast into the mug and reached for the sugar, “-because, couples ‘ave picnics. Miles continued as Alex poured the hot water. When no more came, Alex thought Miles had hung up, but them he realised the man had only paused to sip his beverage. Alex sighed, “Fine - joost, text me the place an’ I’ll be there.”He said, less than politely. “I’ll count every second we’re apar—” that’s when Alex thought it best to hang up, rolling his eyes as he tucked his phone into his pocket and stilled for a beat, this was really happening.

2

The park Miles chose for their ‘date’ was quiet, the gentle hiss of the breeze accompanied  by native birds made the present company tolerable.

The two men sat wordlessly there in the hushed park, Miles laid down with his elbows propping him up. Alex was amazed at how effortlessly Miles had become comfortable, while he - unlike his ‘boyfriend’ - sat cross legged, fidgety and tense. To take his mind off the restlessness of his worry, Alex studied Miles’ outfit of the day. He wore trousers that Alex originally assessed as black, but as the cool sunshine projected down onto them, through the ruffled trees above, he found Miles’ legs to be clothed in the darkest of navy. The tonic turtle neck of pale blue tucked into his pants reached remarkably down his long arms, right to his dainty wrists. From there, Alex’ eyes found amusement in Miles’ fingers, slender and resting over his flat stomach. Rising and falling, with no real rush in the movement--

“See anything you like?” Miles teased Alex, referring to his ogling. Alex’ rubber band mind snapped home as he blinked away, scoffing as he shook his head. “Just fantasising about when you’re gone.” He chirped, ripping a bag of chips open. Miles shook his head through an eye roll as he reclined, linking those stupid fingers over his chest, closing his eyes. He sighed with annoyance through his mouth, thankfully letting whatever  _ that _ was go.

Because of this soundlessly pleasant isolation, Alex was surprised to spot the few shutter-bugs hanging about, none too casually either. The sight made him uneasy - even if this was all part of their plan. The cool wind was unforgiving, but Miles had put down a thick blanket over the grass they sat on. The woolly, grey surface was scattered with the oddest of snacks, Alex picked up the jar of De John mustard and inspected it, then looked down at the packet of crisps he already clutched. None of the food seemed to correlate or compliment one another, Miles must have raided his fridge and hoped for the best. Typical, Alex thought.

Alex kept his eyes away from Miles’ unavoidably long body, he couldn’t trust himself, not after last night’s incident of sexual estrangement. The faint click of camera shutters reminded Alex of the true part he played - Julian would see those photographs…

“Miles.” Alex said, looking up at the few bugs holding cameras with frightening lenses. “ _ Miles _ .” He pressed after no response, jabbing his side. Miles cringed at the touch and sat up, blinking unexposed eyes open, “ _ wot _ ?” He droned like a teenager, crossing his legs, much like Alex’ own position. Alex shook his head and sighed, “s’joost...” he looked over once more at the scribbled  strangers who seemed to know him so well. “Should we be doin’ summat? Like...holdin’ hands?” He visibly shuddered at the thought, it was the most bearable thing he could picture himself doing with Miles. He brushed the thought off aggressively.

However, to Alex’ surprise, Miles did not grill him for his suggestion. Instead he’d followed Alex’ line of sight, locking his eyes to the paparazzi lingering like entitled flies.

He looked back at Alex and then simply said, “I ‘ave an idea.” He shot Alex suggestive eyes, obvious meaning etched behind the words he spoke. Alex furrowed his brows, he still had yet to decipher the code.

“Wot is it?” He asked impatiently, “M’not kissing you.”

Miles shuffled closer on the blanket, Alex then realised just how warm Miles was, though it was bafflement he felt about it and nothing else. Miles, for the first time that day...maybe ever, looked at Alex in the eye. Alex refused to believe the hitch in breath and thrum of pulse had anything to do with it, he tried desperately to swallow those symptoms. Miles, maintaining his ember watch over Alex, gently removed the packet of crisps from the man’s clutches. Alex frowned down at the slender digits removing the greasy bag from his own broad fingers, then glared unhappily up, through his wind-mangled bangs, at Miles, who’s face remained unreadable. 

It was then, once Miles released him from the weight of those sights, that Alex realised what Miles’ was plotting. Somewhere between when he reached down into the snack packaging, and when the chip captured set its course - not for Miles’ mouth, but for Alex’ - did the boy fully understand. “Open up.” The words, for a moment fell out of context, and the thought alone made Alex blush - he’d shun himself for it later - for now he’d blame the cold air. Alex watched Miles make his way towards his lips with the salty victim, much like the way a parent might impose a vegetable upon an infant. “I’ll bite your fookin’ fingers off, Kane.” Alex warned before he realised he’d already willingly opened his mouth, then came the realisation of chewing and then he was swallowing - the entire experience over before it began.

A few minutes passed of this, Miles feeding Alex as the snaps of attention behind cameras from afar sounded approval. “They like it.” Miles remarked factually, Alex’ mouth full, but after a period of silence: “Yeah?” He said, eyes darting over to the small, scattered swarm. He imagined the look of the two, boyfriends feeding each other, the simplicity of whispered nothings and the promise of something that Alex had discovered long ago, didn’t exist. Julian had done something like this for him once, though it’d been more alcohol than mustard, and more cold park bench than warm blanket. “Yeah - they’re totally buying it.” Popped Miles’ confirmation, smirked and smug. Alex grunted as Miles placed another vessel of salt into his mouth. The intense suggestion turning his cheeks the kind of pink you naturally hated yourself for. 

If Miles noticed it, he said nothing. 

“So,” Miles breathed after placing a crisp onto Alex’ palette - the action done thoughtlessly at this point. “ _ Not  _ interested in small talk while you feed me.” Alex muttered around the chips, sniffing his ruddy nose - the cold never agreed with his sinuses. Miles scoffed, “yer making it easy to dislike you.” He muttered, but Alex would not retort, Miles was not his friend, not his fucking  _ boyfriend _ \- if anything, Alex thought - they were co-workers. Other than this - whatever the fuck one might call  _ this _ \- Alex had no interest or need for Miles Kane-

“ _ -ow.” _ Alex hissed, placing a hand over his left rib. Cowering as the short lived spike in pain dissipated,  _ please not this shit right now _ . “What? What did I do?” Miles asked, narrowing his gaze as his feeding halted. “It’s nowt.” Alex squinted, releasing the hand clutched in his cardigan as the sharpness left thankfully. But Miles didn’t relent, “does that ‘appen a lot?” He pressed, oblivious to the spot it was putting him in. Alex frowned down at his hands and then snickered, shaking this head. “Listen to yerself Kane, we an old married couple?” He chuckled with bitter indifference, Miles scoffed, obviously unamused by Alex’ bitter wit. When he directed another crisp into Alex’ lips he turned his head stubbornly, “ugh -no, they’re so fookin’ salty, feels like I drank the ocean.” He said, Miles grunted in acknowledgement. Then those lengthy, entwined legs undid before Miles came to a stand. Chip bag left behind, he extended his hands to pull Alex up. Dam him. Knowing full-well, Alex had no choice but to play the docile boyfriend. “Christ yer hands are cold.” Miles hissed as he helped the boy up. Whether it was the shite picnic blanket, or Alex’ own natural wit - but before he could respond, he was stumbling clumsily into Miles. When he adjusted to the insane proximity, Alex looked down at his arms, in Miles. His forearms clutched by warm, strong hands...when had he last felt that? The touch, or rather, the sensation of being touched, made Alex think of Julian. He blamed his flushed cheeks and cloudy eyes on the thought of him, not the embrace of Miles. Unlike Alex, or Miles - who was clearly hiding his own discomfort for sake of appearance - the pap’s couldn’t get enough of their lover’s scene of adorable comfort.

Alex swallowed hard when he pulled back, avoiding the scrutiny of Miles’ eyes as he stuffed  his icy hands into his deep pockets. “Erm...I think that should do it.” Miles said, referring to the scene they’d fabricated, it was a wrap. “Wonderful.” Alex said, crouching to get Miles horrible taste in picnic food together. As the two stuffed Miles’ tote, little was said, but it was clear that their unusually long period of time spent together had worn them both out. “So, wot now?” Alex asked as they folded the picnic blanket, the pap’s having evened a fraction. “Er, dunno.” Miles replied, taking the folded expanse under his arm, tote in his other hand. “Guess we’ll see wot comes of this.” He said, referring to the nauseatingly domestic performance that had just taken place. Alex nodded, “I’m this way,” He said, gesturing in one direction, “so - well talk?” He half asked, half muttered as he began moving away. “Uh-huh.” Miles hummed, smiling a smile that most would consider bitter, but to Alex - was actually less than hostile.  

“Farewell my love!”  Alex called once there was some distance between them, the words slipping out before thought that been properly attached. However, before he had time to  cringe at himself, he caught Miles’ air-kiss, theatrically dramatic. They were getting good at this.

3

The remainder of Alex’ day was spent in his flat, he felt he could no longer deflect the mess. So, with the determination of a housewife igniting his quest of cleanliness, he began his mission. 

First, he’d done his bathroom - the least messy room in his home. There he found an alarming amount of empty shampoo and conditioner bottles, a depressing amount of expired condoms, and a lovely family of spiders living in the sink’s bottom door - to which he reacted more than appropriately by screaming and locking the room’s door indefinitely. 

Next was the kitchen - the profuse amount of scrubbing nubbing his hands.

Bedroom - closet massacre inspired by his own need to de-clutter.

He connected his laptop to his Bluetooth speaker system that encased his living room, and for the first time in too long, he listened to less-than melancholy music - allowing himself to feel something, something other than sad or uncontrollable or inadequate, something other than Julian.

 

About thirty minutes into his living room clean up - the last to be sorted - Alex began to lose himself in the music; swaying his hips, his unkempt hair syncing with his movements, the flirt of a younger self twirling around his dancing hips. In one hand he held the spray bottle of window cleaner, in the other a rag as he wiped each and everything glass surface in the space. He felt good. The chemical of sound engulfing him in a way that made distress impossible, the chorus had him walking on air as he swayed his body this way  and that - for no one but himself. Feeling the most at home in his body than he’d felt in a while. 

Around the final chorus of Here Comes Your Man, Alex checked the time - 3:27 PM. He wiped his forehead and looked around with his job, satisfied. Once he quieted his music and put the cleaning products away, he flicked on the kettle. Setting out a mug, a tea bag inside, and the jar of sugar at the ready. It was only then that it occurred to him that he hadn't actually changed. He was the same man, containing the same organs, the same bones and stack of memory in his skull. It was then, that the medication of music wore off - replaced by the inadequacy and still very much broken heart. 

As the kettle worked hard to boil Alex’ main element, he leaned his back against the counter, arms locked rather limply over his chest. He didn’t even try to fight it, what was the point? This pattern was the emotional equivalent of quicksand, struggling against the current always created more exhaustion. He’d learnt a long time ago to just let his mind do it’s thing. Feeling anything seemed to harm Alex these days. All he could do was wait it out. He felt himself spacing further and further out of himself, jesus-christ-almighty this sucks. 

As he poured his tea absent-mindedly, he heard the echo of his ringtone coming from across the room, where it sat on his coffee table. He left it - too tired of his voice to possibly use it.

But when it rang again, as Alex poured his milk, he sighed and made his way over to the crying baby.

“Yep?” He droned, apart from both himself and manners in his tone.

“Alex?” Came the caller’s deep voice,  honey poured into the phone - though Alex was too far gone to receive the pleasantry. 

“That’s my name.” He muttered, sitting down on his couch, tea set aside as he crossed his ankles in front, on the table.

“It’s - it’s Jules.” So that’s why that purr sounded so familiar.

“Oh. Hey Jules.” He murmured like glass, closing his eyes as if to brace for impact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cHaPtER title : John Lennon - How Do You Sleep?


	4. MisanthropiC DrunkeN-LoneR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big ‘ole thank you for all the positive feedback, it fuels my horrible writing ;D
> 
> chapter : Days N' Daze

1

Alex recognised his revive in sharpness and saturation as he registered Julian’s voice - his was the first Alex had heard from him since that night in the bar - the exchange had been short lived and was rather fuzzy in Alex’ memory. He’d been a little more than tipsy, the trick of Dutch courage eliciting his bold behaviour. A tight tide stirred deep in Alex’ gut as he recalled that evening, the origin of his and Miles’ fraud, the birth of their performance. He realised he wasn't sure if he’d take it back if he could, realised he could trust himself less and less these days. 

“How...how are you?” Alex asked with rickety conviction, he swallowed hard and inclined forward where he sat. Feeling suddenly helpless in his spick-and-span living room, the smell of lemon grass sanitation being his sole chord to planet earth. “Uh, yeah, good…you?” god, he still spoke with that eased direction, the molten depth of his voice identifiable even through Alex’ mobile. “Yeah, fine.” He lied, almost instinctively.

“I just wanted  to…” Alex’ heart throbbed at Julian’s loss of words, he had never been like this when they were together...or apart...this was new.

“Touch base?” Alex offered with odd composure, he stood up from his couch and took the warm tea in his free hand. He heard Julian snicker on the other end, the sound like familiar syrup. “Still finishing my sentences, hey Al?” A small smile tugging at his mouth, Alex pursed his lips around the ridiculous symptom and took a sip, the hum of cinnamon swirling his palette.

“Old habits…” he murmured, making his way over to the long window across the room. He stood in front of the glass frame, spying down at the minor movement on the streets below. The people threading across the street like blurred ants against the grey concrete, the gentle push of wind through the remaining leaves of sun-kissed orange.

He heard Julian suck in a deep breath, “I wanted to see when you were free to...catch up?” The echoed muffle of the phone call made Jules sound like an old recording, something from a long time ago. “C-catch up?” Alex reiterated, furrowing his brows as he turned his attention from the tv screen he looked out of, down to his socked feet. “Julian…” he sighed, placing his cup down on a nearby surface to rub the back of his neck. He gathered himself, he wanted nothing more than to be close to this man, reacquaint himself with Julian’s company. But he’d set out with intention to his and Kane’s orchestration of madness, he needed to string Julian along the way he had done to Alex on some level. Needed Jules to understand what it meant to work for Alex’ attention, the thought made him prideful in a sick way. Perhaps it was payback, or simply the reverberations of change.

“What?” Julian asked with genuine perplexity, as if the last month hadn't happened.

“Julian, things...things are different now.”

“This about Kane?” Julian asked, the pressure in his voice compacting the question.

“No - I mean,” he squeezed his eyes shut, “...yes. I’m… I - I’m with him now…” what an odd statement, “but, s’not joost him Jules.” Alex’s pulse announced the dread within him system,  he had to work hard to shake the tremble in his words.

“Alex, it’s only lunch I’m asking for.” He pressed gently, easily and instantly convincing every fibre of Alex’ motorized heart. “I…” he looked up at his ceiling, “I...s’posse that’d be okay.” He said, ignoring his dignity, folding into Julian the way he always had. “Wonderful.” Alex could hear him grinning, “how does...Monday work for you?” he asked, Alex released a breath the supposed he had been holding, then began mentally checking his schedule. Monday was a while away - Monday would work, he could pull it together - work himself self up to it. “Monday...” he swallowed thick, “Monday’s fine.”

“Great...so, I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Alex confirmed, moving across the room, ice-cold tea in hand once more.

“See you, Al.” Julian hummed, the waves washing over him gloriously. As if their history didn't exist, like they were young and virgins in the territory of breakup.

“Buh-bye Jules.” Alex said, pulling the phone from his ear as he disconnected the call.

He sighed and sunk back into his sofa, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. He pulled his knees to his chest and stared at his blank TV screen, the memory of his meditation that morning ringing in his ears, what had the narrator said? Before Miles interrupted with date plans.

 _‘Check how you’re feeling.’ Was_  it? What an overlooked assessment - to check yourself. But Alex realise he didn't really want to know how he was feeling.

He spent the remainder of the evening in bed with a book he’d borrowed a while ago, he found that most of the books he started were often _days_ from renewal. It wasn't like this normally, he was a talented reader. Usually he’d be through a book in less than a week, depending on what he had on. Since Julian ended it with him, he’d felt the breeze of literary journey turn straining and solid, in a way that made him hate himself for it. However, after an episode of heady spirits and spilled tears - soaked up by Billy Joel’s Vienna - he’d found himself on his laptop, googling the hideous words : _‘How do I get over him?’_ As if the internet were a friend he was confiding in.  Though, as Alex typed the words he realised he didn't really  _want_ to get over Julian.

As he clutched the glass of wine between his fingers, the hour of midnight shadowing him, he’d scrolled angrily. He found article after article assuring Alex he’d be fine, fucking liars.

Eventually however, he came across a page containing a check-list of sorts. All points of which were remedies for breakup, a means of reminding yourself you are capable of independence.

Unfortunately, most made his eyes roll and his nose scrunch. However, tip #13 had caught his eye. Now, Alex was not new to the world of erotica, but checking out the book he now held had been uncomfortable to say the least, as if the thin lensed librarian could see through him.

But here he was, tucked under covers with the angry-red novel.

The paragraph he’d read online argued that the syrupy fantasy of erotica would allow him to experience desire, all within the safe, detachment of his mind. He’d taken to the idea of sexual pleasure brought from air - well, paper - mostly because with losing Julian, he’d somehow convinced himself that his libido had left with him. So, with the post break-up anger chugging through his veins, Alex had left the library with the most graphic piece he could find. _Fuck it._

The book - the dirty bastard - was riddled with shadowed men and over-the-table fucking.

As Alex turned the page - the print obscene, lit solely by his salmon lamp light - he realised that the story was taking one of _those_ turns. He read slower for these parts, taking the time to study each adjective used to paint the picture. He bit his lip, pulling the skin between his teeth. His toes curled as he soaked in the character’s anticipation - the fiction morphing with his own expectations. His breathing hitched as the writer’s description took a savage turn, words like _throbbing_ or _firm...tight, moan...cock._ Just the simple scattering of letters made his eyes roll back into his head, it was then - as the brutes on paper undressed - that Alex realised he was half-hard. He knew he couldn't ignore the swelling warmth pooling between hips, his blanketed legs suddenly heavy as he looked over at the digital clock on his night-stand. 01:10, how the fuck did that  happen? He scrunched his nose at the hour, tilting the book he held down to gaze at his situation - bulging through his loose boxers and looser bed sheets. He considered his options; he could shut the book and ridiculous hunger out of himself, roll over and get some much needed sleep. Or...

He ran the palm of his free hand up his chest, _or_ …Alex pursed his lips and closed his eyes, feeling the hardened peaks that were his nipples rise through his shirt, _or…_

A self-assured smirk tugged at his mouth as he shuffled his body down, lower on the mattress. Why the fuck not? He made up his mind.

Every time he’d masturbated since Julian, it had felt like a little ‘fuck you’ to him, and the entire concept of a relationship. Bending a knee so that it was raised, he peeled the sheets that covered him lower, so that the rod piercing his boxers was evident. He bit his lip harder at the sight, he positioned himself so he’d be comfortable for the quickie.

When he _was_ comfortable, Alex picked up where he’d left off in his story.

As the scene he read escalated, so did his groping.

With the hand that wasn't clutching the novel, he rubbed himself in long, slow movements over the fabric. His breathing deepened and he knew he’d be finishing before he knew it. Alex finally slid the flat of his hand down his pelvis and under the elastic of his boxer briefs, hissing sharply at his icy hand’s temperature, stark contrast to his scorching cock. Once he got over that, the flood of eye-crossing desire flushed through his gorgeous body.

He sighed through an open mouth as he began calculated strokes, keeping his attention equally divided between his wanking and the plot. As if out of habit, when Alex was informed that the protagonist was about to come, his resolve began syncing, blood rushing towards his ending. Pumping quick and hard, knitting his brows as he fucked his hand precisely.

He finished around when the chapter did, the feeling stinging sweetly through his cock, his hands, his legs and long moan as he came in his hand. The hot mess glazing his trembling fingers beautifully, his cock still twitching as his hips jerked. He breathed deeply and sighed contently, placing the book face-down as he reached over for his tissue box.

When his hand was clean and his boxers back around his hips, he popped the bookmark where required and placed the naughty thing on his night-stand.

Flicking the hue of his bedroom lamp off, Alex pulled up his sheets and curled up as he drifted willingly away.

2

Around mid-morning the following day, as Alex stirred the deep pot of pasta, he pulled his buzzing phone to his ear. His shoulder kept the device in place as both hands were busy folding in the glorious sauce he’d mastered, he cleared his throat and began to acknowledge the caller. “Hell- _oh-_ fuck!” He half greeted - half cursed as a hefty portion of the sauce spilled down the pot, dribbling along the dials of the stove. Alex dropped the wooden spoon to the counter and dashed across his kitchen, swiping the paper towels.”I beg your fookin’ pardon?” Snapped Miles incredulously, though it was mostly amusement found in his tone. “I-no,no, I-” He stuttered absent-mindedly as he wiped the coated surface clean, “I joost…” he trailed of as Miles waited patiently for a response that wasn't stuttered or cursed. Alex flung the dirty paper into the trash and turned the flame to medium heat, popping the lid on the pot. The sighed heavily as he rubbed a hand across his forehead, “Doesn't matter,” he breathed, reaching into his fridge for a beer. “...Alrieght.” Miles snickered, though Alex is certain he’d heard the word ‘klutz’ coughed under his breath.

“Wot, can I do for you Miles?” He asked passively, deciding to not let the current flush in culinary mayhem reflect in his composure. Alex popped the cap open as he pressed the beer to his lips, and then to his flushed, stove-heated cheeks. “Back with more date reservations?” He chimed, leaning forward against his counter, ribs pressed to the surface as he drank is poison. “Summat like that.” Miles replied smugly, Alex sighed and rolled his eyes, “where to now?” He asked looking over his shoulder to check that his meal hadn’t combusted. “You’ll like this,” Miles assured, Alex scoffed and moved over to the stove. “Lay it on me.” He sighed, removing the pot’s lid as he used a spoon to extract a line of pasta, blowing on it as he tested it’s texture. “Drinks.” Miles said, “Figure we deserve a reward for that ‘orrible picnic…” he said, it made Alex smile, but he sent it away with a glare as he turned the flame off. “Doesn’t sound terrible.” He quipped casually, realising he was actually on his close-to-last beer. “Where?” He asked, pulling a bowl from his pantry overhead. “Erm, dunno, you know anywhere good?” Alex thought on it, “Er...well, there’s a bar near mine?” He said, procuring cutlery. “Sure, s’long as I’m plastered by the end of the nigh’,” Alex realised this might be the one thing they had in common, “joost send me the address,” Miles said, “How’s eight-ish?” Alex stilled his plating, “sounds good to me, I’ll text ya, bye.” He put down the phone and picked up his plate, moving over to his lounge-room to down his meal.

It was quarter past seven when Alex locked this front door behind him, crossing his arms over his chest to keep warm as he began his journey.

He’d decided to walk, the bar being not too far away. This evening Alex wore casual slacks, a maroon turtle-neck and a dark brown coat that reached his knees. He lit a cigarette as he strolled, in no rush to get the ball of his and Miles’ charade rolling again. At least this would be an easy one, he wished they could spend all of their ‘dates’ in bars - drinking and having no responsibility other than that. He was pretty sure the bar he picked would not disappoint in resulting media attention -  truth be told, Alex had worked hard to avoid this particular establishment for that reason exactly - it was a shame, because the joint was so conveniently close. At least the shutter-bugged hive would serve to help his and Miles’ scheme, he sighed at the thought of this upcoming round of dishonesty, puffing a cloud from his cold lips as he crossed an empty street.

When Alex arrived he spotted Miles instantly, he was across the room with three other men, laughing and patting one of the men’s back friendly. A song Alex recognised filled the bar, every surface was timber it seemed, glossed and masculine and to Alex’ surprise, basically camera-less, safe for security.

At first Alex was going to ignore Miles’ festivities - make his way to the bar and let the lad socialize until he was ready to play-house with Alex. But suddenly Alex recognised one of the men’s laugh, he froze on the spot and squinted to make out who it was that Miles was cackling with. Miles spotted him, his chuckle settling as he regarded Alex, then he was saying something Alex couldn’t make out, pointing at him. The group all turned to smile and wave over at Alex, he felt his stomach drop when he recognised the lads.

“Alex, mate!” Matt called as Alex made his way over - forcing himself to not runaway.

“Al, long time no see!” Nick chided, grabbing him for a hug. “Here, take this!” Jamie beamed, handing him a pint. Alex nodded a thank you but said nothing.

“You righ’ Al?” Jamie asked with a giggle, “look like you seen a ghost.” Alex snapped out of it, into this body and this bar and this god-awful situation. He let go a pathetic laugh and shook his head, “don’t mind me.” He said, hoping to mend his loss of words, putting the full glass to his lips. As he downed all of his drink in one go - his throat burning - he decided he’d get through this. He had to. And then, afterwards - he’d make Miles wish he was never born. What the hell was wrong with that guy?

“Jeez, Al, pace yerself, aye?” Miles smirked, wrapping an arm around Alex  - much like that first night. Alex swallowed his pride and smiled, allowing Miles’ peice-of-shit behaviour to act as fuel for his loving grin. Alex looked up from his drink to his mates, and where he was certain he’d find uncomfortable looks from them, he found genuine smiles - which made him feel like even more of an asshole. “How ‘bout we snag a booth, yeah?” Said Nick, nodding over to an unoccupied area. They all agreed and before Alex knew it, he was sitting close to Miles on one side of the C shaped booth. Nick and Jamie beside them and Matt directly across the table, Alex held his breath - he would do this for the rest of the evening.  

 

Alex had to refrain from smashing his glass over Miles’ head each time he opened his mouth. However, what baffled and blew his mind to no end was the way the lads were acting with Miles - like he was one of them. Alex supposed he should be happy they liked him...it was good, wasn’t it? Benefited the tension... fed the wire of guilt that punctured his gut mercilessly. He was _lying_ to the people he loved, and with that painful thought, he threw back his drink, swallowing his misery. It was then that he noticed Miles moving weirdly where he sat as the others talked, squirming and scrunching his nose as he tried to get comfy. Alex, though he’d never admit it to Miles, also found the plastic leather of the seating quite uncomfortable - but Alex wasn’t being a _baby_ about it. “Will you stop?” He hissed whisper, the weight of intoxication taking a toll on his composure. “Wot? I mean, wot the ‘ell is this made out of? Fucksake…” Miles growled as he shuffled, Alex didn’t realise how loud his voice was when he grumbled “Can you just sit like a normal person, please?” That was when Matt interrupted the glare Miles was returning Alex, “listen to you too,” He smiled kindly, like they were a pair of puppies. “Can you believe these two hated each other at one point?” He chuckled, talking to the others as he smiled around his drink. “Yeah, I mean, wot changed?” Nick asked as all three seemed to lean in, wide eyes boring holes into Alex and Miles. They gulped in unison, Alex looked at Miles helplessly. Miles looked back at him as if to ask for permission to speak, it made something warm stir inside Alex. Alex gave him a short smile, both for confirmation and so that glaring wasn’t all the lads saw him doing around Miles. Miles cleared his throat, “Well, lads…” he began, Alex then realised he might have to help him, as much as it stung. So he cleared his mind; “We-uh, we ran into each other at...at…” he felt his heart rate greet him with aggression, “-at that bar.” Miles rescued, looking closely at Alex. He wondered if Miles had filed away that moment at their picnic, when Alex’ anxiety had curled tight in his chest - he doubted it - it was only Miles’ pretend-job to care. “Y-yes, that bar.” He continued, summoning his wits. He took a breath and straighten his half-drunk ass up, “I was pretty nervous…” he said without thinking, liquid courage loosening his lips. “Course ya were, that’s Miles fucking Kane.” Jamie kidded, stupidly elbowing Nick who laughed drunkenly, shaking his head fondly. “But it were’nt tha’...” He said, giving up on fighting his sudden flow of words - at least he was talking. All men’s eyes were on him, including Miles’. Alex wouldn’t have known those eyes were on him had he not looked up from his drink, almost startled with the look Miles was giving him. “Then wot was it?” Matt asked, watching the two eyeing each other. Alex and Miles’ stare down popped as he turned his head to answer Matt’s question, “er…” all confidence having dried up evidently. “His arse.” He shrugged, downing the last of the golden brown. Jamie and Nick laughed their nuts off - drunker than sailors - but Matt only smiled, asking Miles “And you? Wot changed?” He asked, “if I recall right, you were quite the gossip-girl online ‘bout our Al.” He said, it was spoken with little venom, Matt not being a malicious man, but it was enough to make Alex squirm in the chair’s horrid cushioning. Miles sighed and nodded, “Aye…” he owned it, scratching the back of his head. Alex leaned back as Miles spoke, and took in the lad’s outfit. Alex had been too discombobulated earlier to really take in Miles’ attire, but it was a sight to behold. A self-announcing leather jacket, unzipped and juvenile. A black skivvy under, it was thin and Alex could easily see his chest rise and fall with breath. He wore dark denim jeans, tight enough to turn heads, complementing those legs that went on for centuries. Last were his matte-black Chelsea boots. Alex realised he was staring, he blinked away and was met with Jamie and Nick’s ‘knowing’ looks. Jamie’s pout said ‘aw’ - the romantic he was, while Nick’s was something else...some guy-to-guy smirk, the look one lad gives another when he knows he’s getting some. The thought - nauseating like all the rest - prompted him to tune into Miles and Matt’s conversation.

“-so, all said and done,” Matt said, wrapping the exchange Alex had missed up, “you were jealous.” Alex’ head jerked backwards as he frowned at Miles questioningly - he looked like someone who was swallowing his own truth, but was sporting a tight smile. Alex realised he rather appreciated the hit Miles was taking, “it’s behind us now,” Alex concluded brightly, and before he knew it, he was entwining his hand with Miles where it rested over the table. Matt smiled and nodded, Alex felt the hesitation in Miles’ grip and wanted the contact over as soon as possible. “Well, I’d say this calls for celebration.” Matt declares, sliding out of the booth, “Cookie, Nick come pay for me drinks,” he said as the two also slid out, shoving each other as the three made their way over to the bar.

As soon as the group had left Alex practically ripped his hand away from Miles, yanking the entire sentiment away. “Christ,” Miles breathed shakily, lighting a cigarette, “this is fucked.” He said, referring to the situation they were in - the guilt also getting to him Alex supposed. Alex buried his head in his hands as his elbows rested on the table, “your the one who fookin’ invited them,” Alex said, lifting his head to regard Miles. “Wot the fuck were you thinking?” He snapped, turning his full attention to him, trying desperately to see through how good Miles looked tonight. “ _Me_?” Miles gawked, “ _Matt’s_ the one who said he wanted us to hang out.” He said, shaking his head as he released a cloud of smoke. “So you told him to just - come along?” Alex growled, sagging back in the booth. “It was last minute Alex, wot was I supposed to do? Say no? I didn’t know he’d bring Nick and Jamie.” Alex felt something in hearing Miles using his friend’s names...it was odd. He couldn’t deny Miles’ point but remained stone faced as he stared at his empty glass, “How was I supposed to know Matt would give us the third degree?” Miles said, looking at him. Alex sighed and nodded, “I…” he said softly - too soft. “I’m sorry.” He settled firmly, like a threat. He was pretty sure he meant it - this was a rather big thing Miles was doing for him - he didn’t _have_ to be doing this. Alex’ apology caught Miles by surprise, he watched the slighter lad carefully who still wouldn't look at him. He sighed, snubbing his smoke out on the steel ashtray, “S’fine.” He replied tiredly, “let’s just get through this.”

And they did. Actually -  if Alex didn’t know any better he’d say Miles was even enjoying himself. The trick of whisky chugging through Alex’ veins, lending a hand in his sudden flamboyance. “I-I wanna dance - M-Matt,  come ‘an dance wif me!” Alex called from the bar where he held a fruity drink, he looked over at Miles and Matt who were laughing at something - probably Alex. Nick and Jamie had left a while ago as midnight crept in, both having their lives on in the morning. Matt had said he’d let Alex buy the next - so there he stood, off his rocker, swaying his hips to The Divinyls’s I Touch Myself. He caught Miles’ eyes on him but decided he’d misread it through his drunken smog.

Backing up his demand towards Matt, Alex half walked-half sang his way over to Miles and him.

“ _Oi!_ ” He frowned at the two, “you ‘ear me?” Matt laughed as he looked up at Alex, his eyes squeezing shut as he hit a hand to the table in hilarity. “OHh, I dunno Al,” He cackled, “I reckon I’m not match for your moves.”  Alex’ age always decreased in maturity when he drank, so tonight he had the determination of a toddler. He gripped his drink tight and called over the music, “Matthew Helders, you get yer arse on tha’ dance floor or _so_ help me I will - _oHh_ I _love_ this part-“ Alex interrupted himself, as he sang along with the next verse. If he’d have opened his eyes as he belted the chorus he would have seen the look on Miles face - it would have changed the way he saw him.

Instead he just sang his intoxicated heart out.

“ _I don’t want aaaanybody else...when I think abouuut you I touch ma’self.”_ Alex bleated operatically like a maniac, “Jesus-Christ, make it stop!” Matt cried, Alex halted his serenade to glare at his friend. “Miles!” Matt exclaimed, relief washing over his way out. “Miles will dance wif ya!” He called over the noise, hands extending as he gestured to the musician across the booth. Alex looked over at Miles with a drunken smirk lacing his lips, Miles had a deer in the headlights look on his face.“Oh, no, no - I—” Alex downed his drink and slammed it on the table, making Matt jump in his sluggish state. “C’mon babeh, let’s boogie.” Alex said, holding out a hand out for Miles to take.  

Miles shedded his coat - Alex having  done the same hours and drinks ago, and let Alex lead him to the dance floor - bumping in to a few people - all to which Miles murmured apologies to. Once they were in the eye of the storm - Matt far behind - Alex slipped into the music as a new track entered the atmosphere. Alex’ eyes lit up with realization, “Holy-fuck! No _way_!” he exclaimed disbelievingly as Miles Kane’s Better Than That began playing. He bobbed up and down to the tune, yelling out the lyrics. Miles starred disbelievingly, “You know me music?” He yelled over the sound of his own voice, ringing through the throbbing crowd. “Wot?” Alex called over the chorus, annoyed with the interruption.

In real-life, sober, lucid cognitively thinking Alex would never, _ever_ have let on even the slightest of hints that the enjoyed, or even _liked_ Miles’ music. But tonight, amidst the weather of bright lights and roaring heat, Alex found the use in lying futile and exhausting. Life seemed much too bubbly in this drunken state to be bitter - god he was a mediocre drunk.

The two musicians danced their way through the song - keeping respective distances even with all of the drunk bodies oozing around them. But...when the next sound clicked into Alex’ ears he instantly stopped dancing. The entire world singing and partying around him as his shoes sewed to the floor. Of course. Alex thought pitifully, of fucking course. “Alex?” Miles asked, placing a hand on his arm up high, squeezing gently. Alex stared blankly down at the dance floor, the impression of overhead lighting shining down over the expanse. Julian’s voice swelled around Alex like a lusting siren, the lyrics to A New Romance depleting his energy. “Alex!” Miles yelled, giving him a shake. Alex blinked up at him, his train of thought derailing. “W-wot?” He croaked, though Miles had to read his lips over the noise. Alex felt his hand full of someone else’s, the feeling weird but kind of nice. It was Miles’ he realised, and he was being pulled away from the crowd and sound of Julian Casablancas.

“What is it? What happened?” Miles asked as he took Alex over to the bar, asking the tender for a water. He nudged it towards Alex’  hands that held the edge of the bench, “Nuffin’,” he said lightly, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile, “joost a ‘lil droonk.” He said, downing all of his water, savouring every ounce of refreshment. “But, Al-” Miles’ attempted protest was butted in by Matt who came to see what was up.

“You righ’ Al?” He asked, putting a hand on his back, “ _Yes_.” He insisted impatiently, “I just, I have to pee.” He droned, pushing past Miles and Matt’s concern.

When he entered the men’s room it was empty, he went to wash his face but turned from his water splashing when he heard Matt murmur his name. He wiped his skin and smiled brokenly up at his friend, “hey…” he said. Matt gave him a sad, knowing smile and closed in for a hug. “M’sorry Maffew.” He muffled into his shoulder, “dont.” Was the drummer’s response, “don’t you start that.” Letting Alex go as he said it, holding the slighter man by his shoulders. Alex nodded, pursing his lips as he sighed brokenly. “Every time I think I’ve gotten over it...over him.” The proof was in the fact that Alex had plans to see Julian next week, he’d come running the second Jules had whistled. And what was worse was that Alex still had every intention of getting Julian to see him - want him back.

“Hey,” Matt soothed, looking Alex in the eye. “I know it sucks.” Alex snickered and nodded, thankful to have Matthew here. Then Matt took a turn that stunned Alex. “But you ‘ave Miles now,” he said, smiling fondly at the thought. Alex heart sank even further, if it were possible. “I mean, Al, I saw the way he was with you back there…” Alex fought wars to help from shaking out of Matthew’s grip and scream at him with the horrible truth. “I was wrong ‘bout him.” He said, chuckling lightly. Alex smiled, warmed by Matt’s words, even if the meaning behind them bit Alex. “Thanks Matt...really.” Alex said, sniffling.

As the two lads emerged from the gent’s, Alex found Miles back at the bar, head hung low.

“Alex, hey.” Miles said, turning to face he and Matt. He looked Alex up and down, as if making sure he hadn’t been attacked by wolves. “Alright?” He asked, obviously trying to hide his concern. “F’course.” Alex replied softly, waving the question away as he checked the time on his phone. “God, I’m drunk…” he said as he read his bright screen, Matt laughed over his shoulder, “yeah, I’m gonna call it.” They settled their tab and collected their coats, leaving the warm club as they entered the brisk night air. Matt said his goodnights and good lucks to the two men, drunk and silly. Leaving them as he hopped into a taxi, taking away their rouse with him.

“‘Ow ‘bout you? You gettin’ a lift?” Alex asked as they stood outside the now hushed bar, taking the offered lighter from Miles. The other lad blew out a stream of smoke into the still air, icy and stiff. “Er...yeah. You?” He asked as Alex passed the lighter back, their fingers grazed but they were too drunk to acknowledge it. “I, er...live nearby, thought I’d walk ‘ome.” Miles shook his head, smiling through his cigarette. “Which way?” He asked, without registering what Miles intended, Alex pointed drunkenly off in one direction. “Lets go.” Miles said, beginning the journey. “But-” Alex protested, but was butted in by Miles calling back to him: “As your sworn enemy I refuse to leave you.” He declared wobbly, “an’ yer no good to me if you get stabbed on the way ‘ome.” Alex wanted to tell him no thanks, but his bubbled perception of appropriate behaviour ruined the intention. Soon he was following not far behind Miles, staring at the back of him.

 

3

The trek home - had they been sober - would have been no more than fifteen minutes. But by the time Miles got Alex’s wobbly legs to the front door, it had been a fair half hour search for Alex’ place.

The walk home had been as silent as death to begin with, Alex followed like a duckling behind Miles, digging the hand that wasn’t cradling his cigarette into his coat pocket. Alex felt the weight of alcohol on him like an anvil, his mind was bouncy. However, through that smog he could still see Miles. Flashing from under the street lights he passed like a phantom; bright orange, illuminated, on fire. And in a second, gone. Like a vision, a figment guiding him home.

“Full moon.” Miles remarked over his shoulder, Alex looked up from the pavement, blowing a plume of ash out as he walked. He gazed up at the waxing moon, a white dome of Luna melancholia. Alex sighed, the sight making him envious rather than enchanted. “Yep.” He breathed, Miles then slowed his pace so that they were strolling shoulder-to-shoulder. Alex avoided eye contact, cold and tired and still the ring of Casablancas in his ears. Miles didn’t try again, but Alex found himself spying up through his lashes, to the man walking beside him. He really was a sight to behold, the overhead lights of suburbia projecting a chiaroscuro of shadow across his razor cheekbones, his eyes pitch black and blown in the darkness. He was looking straight on as Alex drank in his profile, but soon Alex’ observing was caught. When Miles turned his head - and began to watch Alex watching him - they had an intense five second stare-down. Maybe it was that Alex simply forgot to look away when those orbs meet his, Miles’ eyes were fucking machine guns - a weapon one could only dream of being the target of.

“I joost...wanted to say thanks…” Alex murmured, looking at the pavement as he toes his cigarette out under his shoe. “For wot?” Miles said, his voice was husky, Alex had to push the sensation away.

“Joost…” he said, watching Miles flick his cig away in a pitch black direction as they walked.

Alex cleared his throat, “back there,” this was proving harder to say than he’d thought. “All of it I guess…they mean a lot to me, the lads I mean.” he supposed he’d emerged from silly drunk to nostalgic drunk. Alex looked back up at the moon, finding the waxing orb staring back at him, probably feeling sorry for him.

“Yeah I - I like them...they care a lot about you.” Miles said, possibly the ease of alcohol to blame. Alex smiled, trying to blink away the puddle threatening to spill in his eyelids. Sometimes Alex wished he was incapable of caring, though, then he wouldn’t be able to appreciate Miles’ gentle manor right now.

“Took everything in me to not rub that ‘jealousy’ bit in your face in front of them,” Alex grinned, tears retreating as he crossed his iced hands around himself. But Miles just looked down at Alex with a knowing smirk - it didn’t click for Alex. “Wot?” Alex prodded quizzically, frowning in askance.

“ ‘Bit’? ” Miles said, raising his eyebrows. Alex laughed, convinced Miles was yanking his chain. “W’yeah?” He said, “looked like you were swallowing razors with that lie.” Alex giggled, shaking his head. Miles said nothing, watching the road ahead. So Alex thought on it...shit - had he just completely brushed over a confession? “Wait - so…” he said, desperate to revive it. “You _were_ jealous?” Alex asked, he turned down his street - Miles sticking by him. “Don’t flatter yerself, Turner.” He smirked, sniffling  his cold nose. “It wasn’t jealousy...joost…” Alex turned to gauge Miles, the heat of his breath visible in the brisk air. “Envious?” Alex sang, flashing his eyebrows. Miles shoved him away, “Fook off.” He said, making Alex laugh stupidly. “Alreigh’, alreigh’ - I’ll leave it alone.” He smiled, making sure to never actually smile _at_ Miles. Alex realised he didn’t know Miles well enough to understand, and with that, he realised that he kind of wanted to.

“You totally respect as a musician.” Alex decided pridefully, crossing his arms, chin in the air.

Miles shoved him once more, “oh please! Who was the one singin’ every line of me song back there?” He accused, nodding back the direction they came from. Alex was thankful for the cover of night to hide his blushing, “shut up - a good song’s a good song.” He said, though he realised the admission didn’t exactly support his negative argument. An afterthought for tomorrow.

Miles smirked and shook his head, Alex could see out the corner of his eye that Miles was staring up at the moon. He looked up at Miles and realised that this was the longest they’d gone without fighting, Miles must have been thinking the same because he looked down at Alex and said, “look at us - gettin’ along like normal people.” Alex laughed, cringing at his totally drunk girly sound. “Who woulda thunk it…” he said, smiling to himself - perhaps Miles Kane wasn’t a complete wanker.

Maybe one day they could be friends...many drunk nights into the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, I changed my alias yes. sorry if it’s confusing... my tumblr is yvettecigarette I literally just got it so I’m still working it the heck out? You can reach me there so we can discuss the weather.


	5. this charming man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was in a shitty mood this week but that's okay because there's this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is The Smiths, because i'm a sap

1

The week leading up to Alex’ lunch date with Julian was spent in the unending company of Miles Kane. This proved to be a proximity shift he’d need to adjust to.

Although the night Miles walked Alex home had certainly lightened the mood, the undeniable friction between the two remained. During a painfully hangover phone call the morning after their night out, Miles had informed Alex that he was officially handing the baton of date-selection over to him. With this new ability, Alex had decided he would fill is schedule so full that he couldn’t  _ possibly  _ worry about Julian. And as it happened, Miles would play a large part in that. 

Alex had been offered tickets to an Arthouse French Film Premiere the following night, to which Miles had begrudgingly agreed to go with him to. The musician had appeared at Alex’ place at seven, waiting by the taxi out front, not unlike some prom-date being dragged along. Alex swallowed hard as he’d locked his door behind him, dreading the very event he’d pushed for. As he approached the cab, Alex drank in what Miles was wearing. He refused to believe those pants were legal, attached to his limbs sinfully. He believed the man before him to be one of the few men on earth capable of pulling off a cheetah shirt not ironically. It was fitted and hung over his shoulders as if each stitch needed more of him against it. 

Inside the car, they sat in unimpressed silence - neither really looking forward to the hive of paparazzi they were about to kick.

To say something, simply for the sake of saying something, Alex had asked Miles about his online statistics, “Most followers I’ve ever ‘ad.” He’d said, though it wasn’t light or laughed as though perhaps it should have. If anything, Alex found traces of distaste in the admission...which he decided to pretend he hadn’t noticed. Alex had his reasons - all of whom were dressed in denim and sonorously voiced - and Miles had his. They were accomplices - Alex didn’t need to know the details - that was the beauty of business.

The premier was a gleaming A-list event, the edifice lit like a beacon for lost bugs like them. The boys were showered in sparkled explosions of flash photography, at one point Miles had slipped an arm around Alex’ waist possessively - the lad could only grin and bare it. Once Alex and his charming boyfriend had starred in a myriad of photos - both for the insistent paps and the tide of glistening fans - they'd been at last shown to their seats - both exhausted and identically ready for bed. 

Guilt was an insistent backpacker this evening. Suddenly everything was so real. The entire social situation had breathed life into their lie, Alex had to work hard to push it out of his mind. 

“Sorry ‘bout ‘tha...” Miles had whispered, leaning into Alex who sat next to him in the authentic, velvet seats. The cinema was lit solely by the screen, a red wipe of introductory credits painted the audience crimson. Alex had to rewind to what it was Miles had said - he looked like a phantom under that red, at least now Alex could blush freely, should Miles make an abrupt comment. “About wot?” He whispered back, the familiar syrupy music of France commencing - that drawl of romantic trumpet loosening Alex’ paparazzi induced clench. He looked at Miles’ hand that held the arm rest between them, he found the lad’s eyes glued to the monstrous screen when his sights lifted to regard him. 

“You know...the...” he said, being drawn into the film. “...the kissin’ business.” Miles said, was he intentionally avoiding eye contact? Yes. 

”Oh...” Alex said, mind briefly trekking backwards to that moment. It’d just been the one kiss, on the cheek  - completely necessary in their new exposure - but it still took Alex aback. He’d hidden his reaction brilliantly - the musician had mastered that lie lifetimes ago - however, this instance he found challenging to conceal. “You did wot you ‘ad to.” He said, shrugging the thought off - along with the spot below his left cheekbone imprinted by Miles’ lips. The memory leaving him as Miles nodded and let the discussion go, reclining as he stole a handful of popcorn.

About an hour into the film - which up until this point had been a motion collage of breathtaking scenery, mouth watering meals and unchained sexual tension between characters...Alex began to realise a possible mistake. The feeling of regret stuck its ugly head out as the actors began undressing each other. Although Alex loved -  _ loved  _ \- European films, he’d let their...freedom...slip his mind. Were he alone, he wouldn’t have thought twice about the moans and pants filling the auditorium. But sitting impossibly close to Miles...the very fact that they were hearing and seeing the same endless fucking scene of fucking made Alex’ stomach squeeze and face heat.

An hour and a half later, after the finishing credits and flee from photography to their lift, the two sat in the back of the taxi once again, somehow more uncomfortable than before.

Alex cleared his throat, “so...wot’d you think?” He said, smiling with half hearted hope to lighten the mood, though he knew his grin pointed directly to the elephant in the cab. Miles looked at Alex straight for a moment, as if deciphering his seriousness, he mustn’t have found much because he soon began laughing hysterically - triggering an almost instant obscene cackle from Alex. They writhed in their shared discomfort and knowing hilarity, the driver surely convinced they were on something at the rate they were going. “OHh,  _ jees _ .” Alex wheezed, slamming back into his window sided corner, catching his breath.

“That were actual fookin’ porn - you took me to see porn!” Miles accused, squeezing his eyes shut as he chuckled. “I did  _ not _ .” Alex defended matter-of-factly, straightening the suit he’d caught Miles’ eyes on once or twice. “What do you call a fifteen minute oral scene, eh?” He replied geniusly, running his fingers across his teary eyes. Alex rolled his, “how could I have known?” He said, mostly to himself as he stared out the cloudy glass. “Well, certainly opens up a new level of intimacy for us, laa.” The lad responded, staring out his window as he giggled into his hand. Alex shook his head almost fondly, “Shut it.” He grumbled, blinking slowly as the hum of the car’s engine continued their conversation for them, white noise implanting itself where the wit had dissipated. 

The next time they were out, it was to a friend of Miles’ art exhibition. Alex regarded the large painting hung on the wall they stood by, it was enormous, terrifying. Alex leaned in and read the little artist’s note stuck over the expanse beside piece; an oil-on-canvas, completed this year, entitled: ‘ _ it’s time I got over you _ .’ The title slapped Alex across the face, suddenly every element of this evening was against him. “Wot d’you make of it?” Miles asked, coming to stand by Alex and his rather sunken posture. Miles handed Alex a glass of red and join him in examination.

“It’s…” Alex began half heartedly, soaking in the scream of red and orange spat over the canvas. “Fascinating.” He concluded coolly, eyes flicking to Miles while his stoic head remained straight on. Miles scrunched up his nose, scolding the piece, “ _ how _ ?” He mumbled, turning his head like a curious bird. Alex scoffed and gazed at the image once more, “take it your not a deep thinker.” He muttered almost playfully, being careful with his eyes as he chose his words. “Fuck off.” Miles replied, one corner of his lips curling up, Alex had caught it out the corner of his eye. Miles sighed, crossing his arms, “I don’t get it.” He said, stepping closer to lean into a better view. Alex hung back, “I don’t think you need to.” He’d said hesitantly, frowning at the enticing dribble, “people put too much pressure on interpretation.” 

Miles straightened up and glanced over his shoulder quizzically, “wot d’you mean?” Alex faltered, he had to take a moment - a beat to appreciate what had just been said - a request for elaboration. 

“Um…” was Miles giving Alex stage-fright? He cleared his throat, “I-I guess I mean,” Alex took a step closer to the oil beast, “it’s joost...it’s supposed to make you feel…” he shrugged, landing on: “summat…” Miles and Alex leaned in, shoulder to shoulder as they eyeballed the piece. Miles’ head turned to catch the other man’s eyes already on him. They locked. Alex was stunned to find nothing but honesty in those orbs of Miles’, “...nothing, precise.” Alex softly concluded, sights set.

2

As he crossed the zebra-striped crosswalk, frosty hands stuffed in his jacket’s corduroy pockets, Alex felt the buzz of an incoming call vibrate against his pocketed skin. Alex’ Vans found the other side of the road just as he slid his phone alive to answer, “Hullo?” He said, clearing his throat when he heard the nerves in his voice. He tipped his chin upwards to spy over the moving herd, attempting to eyeball his destination from where he currently walked.  Alex twisted his lips at the shite view, lowering his raised heels-

“Alex, it’s Mum.” His heart both lit and sank, he faltered in his pace, but quickly picked it up once more. “Mum - hi…” he greeted ghostily, suddenly more petrified of this phone call than the lunch he was about to have with his ex. 

“How are you, honey?” She asked, his mind cleared as he prepared that special filter one must hoist up for their parent’s sake. “I-I’m good - I’m…” Alex’ brain put the task of talk on hold once he reached the burger bar’s entrance, the stone-concrete of side-walk gave way to citrus toned tile stairs. The steps crept up three or four increments, leading to large, shut glass doors, tinted and sullen. He closed his eyes and swallowed, “I’m joost out righ’ now,” he explained, hanging by the side of the building at the bottom of the stepped entry. He looked at his feet, realising how much he missed his Mother’s voice - and in turn - realising how fucking painful that was to think about. “Could I - can I give you a ring a bit later?-” his mumbled request was swept aside when she asked him; “Alex - when were you going to tell me?” He frowned questioningly at the ground and searched his suddenly blank mind, “Tell - tell you wot, Ma?” He stuttered, pressing the nail of his thumb between his front teeth nervously. “About  _ him _ .” She said obviously, though with the ease Alex missed most about her. 

Alex’ heart clenched. Shit. How could he have not expected this to get back to his parents? He mentally scolded his own obliviousness. How could he have overlooked the awareness of life outside of his immediate reach? To have had his mind slip of the very people that fucking brought him into this helpless place. “W-who?” He shuddered softly, contently settled on playing dumb.

“The bloke with ‘is ‘ands all over you, Alex David Turner.” She half demanded half chuckled, the words spoken setting fire to his cheeks. Alex straightened his posture and swallowed his moral compass, “Oh.” He said plainly, eyebrows lifting as if she could see his totally nonchalant expression.  “That - that would be…” he continued, scattering his response gracelessly, “Miles.” He finished, all features of calm hitting the road. 

His Mother hummed, an expectant noise, asking for more; “A name is a good start, does he have a last one?” She asked, her sweetness shining through Alex’ cracked phone. He frowned at his situation - he wanted to tell her so much more than he permitted himself. An offended horn cried from somewhere over yonder, in the swirl of mid-morning traffic. It brought Alex back to his surroundings, he sucked in a breath and pulled his phone from his ear, checking the time. 

“Kane. ‘is name is Miles Kane,” he said patiently, as if awaiting a scolding. But his Mother hummed in approval, “Miles Kane.” She said, testing the title out for herself. But hearing it - his lie coming out of his mother’s mouth - made Alex want to change it - backdown with the entire hoax and pull the name from his Mother’s knowledge like snake bitten words. Instead he told her he loved her but would have to elaborate later, she told him she would hold him to it. And that she loved him too.

Alex tucked his phone into his back pocket and tucked his self-disgust someplace safe - it’ll be examined later. He took a breath he didn’t feel deserving of, combing his hair with cold fingers as he climbed the stairs.

When Alex made it inside the less-than filled restaurant he was greeted by the scent of aioli and Mexican cola, retro green tube lights spelling the joint’s title and a bright-pink lipped woman greeting him warmly. More kindness he couldn’t possibly deserve. 

The cheery creature showed Alex to a glossed table for two, where a total of zero ex-boyfriends sat. Alex scrunched his face unconsciously, before the insightful waitress explained that the young man Alex was sharing Lunch with had stepped out for a smoke. He thanked her and took the folded, laminated menu she gave him. Alex took a seat and instantly glued his eyes to the half empty beer bottle sitting across the table.  _ You too, huh?  _ He metally offered the abandoned beverage. 

Not long after Alex had opened his menu, landing on a classic beef burger, was he met with a voice so familiar he almost forgot to respond. “Say, what’s a boy like you doing in a place like this?” Alex’ eyes flicked up from the fine type-writter font to the text etched behind Julian’s eyes, he found his home there. Because Julian was Alex’ home - a home that had decided it didn’t want him anymore.

Alex smirked up at the frontman, shrugging as he explained; “got stood up.” Julian laughed at that, the sound making Alex the luckiest lad on planet earth. “But, I mean, you’re free to join me.” He offered coyly, gesturing with his hand to the empty spot across from him. “How kind.” Was Julian’s play, taking the offered seat. They had a moment of scene concluding chuckling, it felt like old times, just...more temporary now, as if on the brink of expiry. “How the hell are you, Al?” Julian sighed, elbows on the table edge as his fingers crossed under his chin, giving Alex more attention than he knew what to do with. He decided he would compose himself. He wouldn’t dishonour this entire lie by cracking now. He would make his ego proud, he would follow through and he wouldn’t be melted by those eyes-  _ oh god, those fookin’ eyes of ‘is. _

Alex cleared his throat and placed his folded menu on the table, he smiled at Julian with a special  kind of shallowness - the smile he’d give a cashier handing him his change. “Yeah, hangin’ in there.” He shrugged happily.

Julian nodded and smiled, sweeping his eyes over Alex.

He’d decided on casual-meets-cruel with what he wore, Alex planned to make Julian pay...while still projecting the image of a man in a fulfilling relationship.

A black, cotton turtleneck under a navy blue jacket that he knew he wore well.

And for the desired twist of tease, the hottest pair of jeans he owned. Embracing his full, luscious legs Julian had once worshiped, as well as the ass he was often informed could stop traffic. 

His shoes were new, the clarity of virgin footwear amusing him whenever he’d glance down at them. 

His hair he knew was unclean, but it sat better this way, or so Julian had once whispered after sex.

Knowing exactly what Julian was playing at, Alex raked over Jules’ - perhaps a little less obviously. He looked like him, young and troubling with his elastic smile. His hair was that same shag of umber brown - so close to black it shouldn’t count. He was wrapped in a plastic-leather coat, sitting over those strong shoulders, down to mid-thigh Alex had observed. Under he wore the most domestic shade of mustard in form of cardigan, under that, who knows...surrounding his legs were those wolf-attacked jeans, followed by white, casual sneakers. He still made Alex smile without trying, only now he had to hide it - only beam when appropriate. 

“And you?” Alex asked softly, and in a cruel stroke of punishment, pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Knowing what it did to Jules. The man eventually let off Alex’ plump lips and met Alex’ eyes, deep and encased by darkness. “Good,” he breathed out of his mouth, looking down at a ring he wore, “I’m good.” 

Alex smiled, hurt to think it were true. A selfish part of him wanted Julian miserable without him, but he knew that Jules had people all around him, good people that he knew how to connect with. He’d always envied that about Julian - his ability to ask for help where needed. 

“So,” Alex sighed, pulling up his menu once more, trying to recall what he had settled on. “I’m thinkin’ beef patty with chips...and,” he said, biting his lip in concentration, “a lemonade. Wot do you-” Julian lowered his menu impatiently, “-Alex, I need to…” They looked each other in the eyes, attempting telepathy perhaps. Though, Alex had a hunch. The sound of colourful stanza  filled the diner, the music spoken rather than sung, it was a welcome distraction. Julian looked down at his hands once more, then reached out for Alex’ where they lay on the table. Julian squeezed his hands, Alex’ eyes fluttered down at the entwined fingers linked below him, his throat locked. He was going to pull away, now...now, right...now. He looked up and found himself far gone far too quickly in those puppy-dog eyes, still easily caught in that breath.

When Julian brought Alex’ knuckles to his lips Alex visually faltered, thankfully appearing more distant than seduced. Alex let go a slow breath from his mouth, looking at the sight of Jule’s lips on him like a bomb - like the act was seconds from disaster. “I miss you.” Julian whispered into the flesh, pecking the spot once more, Alex squeezed his eyes shut in defense. Like this was painful - it  _ was  _ painful. 

When Alex opened his eyes Julian was smiling sadly up at him from where he rested over the table, still holding Alex’ hands in his, rubbing his thumb over the skin lovingly. 

“Jules…” Alex sighed, sticking close to his motives. He couldn’t crack now, he’d worked too hard - he’d let Miles Kane use him as fucking arm candy for christ-sake.

“Julian, I…” he frowned at their hands, “I don’t know what to say.” It was true, so that was something. Julian released Alex’ hands gently - only now they felt like a burden without Jules holding them. “You don’t have to say anything.” He verified gently, “I just needed you to know.” He crossed his arms over the table and smiled softly at Alex. 

All he could do was nod, feeling extremely separate from himself. It took a great deal of strength for Alex to pretend he was fine with what Julian had just told him.

What did he want from Alex? He couldn’t have just told him he missed him, only to leave it in the air for the rest of their lives, could he? Or would this lead to more? Was he saying he wanted Alex, or merely missed him? Did he have any idea how cruel this confession actually was?

Alex decided he didn’t care. He’d made his bed, and now he’d have to bunk with all of his lies, along with Miles. 

“So, how are Matt and the boys?” He asked socially, easing the tension off of them gracefully. Alex sighed and smiled, desperately trying to not linger on ‘ _ I miss you’.  _

Julian and Alex filled the remainder of their exchange with delightful small-talk, Alex found himself slipping, falling, plummeting back into the wonder of Julian. Every time Jules opened his mouth, Alex couldn’t wait to hear what he’d say. Though Alex took pride in his ability to gift-wrap his emotions, he enjoyed watching Julian struggle to digest this new Alex. One that controlled his smiling and was capable of full-sentences, one that couldn’t kiss Julian because he felt like it. Nor did he feel he could anymore.

“This is nice.” Alex said, pushing his empty plate away. It was nice. He and Jules hadn’t spoken about small things in centuries, the end of their relationship had been chunky and solid in conversation. Long, tedious extensions of debate rather than communication, leaving little room for chit-chat. Julian hummed, the reverberation sending vibrations down Alex’ spine. “It is.” He sighed, leaning back in this seat. Alex unconsciously smirked down at his finished lemonade bottle, knowing who’s eyes were on him, watching him. Alex looked up, finding what he had hoped for. He met Jules’ gaze, “I…” he breathed, but then he swallowed tight - catching himself. “I should go.” He said, nodding at his statement. Julian nodded also, slowly and rather crestfallen. 

“Sure,” Jules smiled, “let me call you a cab.” He offered, standing just as Alex did. “I’m gonna walk.” He smiled, running his long fringe back and away. He smirked up at Jules, “thanks for lunch.” He said honestly, crossing his arms as he mentally prepared for the chill outdoors. Julian smiled, the sides of his lips curled. Alex’ heart clenched when Jules stepped a little too close, his eyes stuck to the floor awkwardly. Julian leaned in close, lips at Alex’ ear when he whispered; “think about what I said.” It didn’t need to be clarified, it was too obvious. Alex closed his eyes when he knew he couldn’t be seen, Julian’s heat could keep him cozy in a blizzard.

Alex pursed his lips, looking up into Julian’s eyes as he retracted. But he said nothing to it, Julian smiled down at him, giving a playful wink. Alex needed to go - needed to be smelling something other than Jules. “I - I’ll...maybe we can do this again,” Alex said lightly, “an’ I’ll drag Miles along.” He had to look away for that part, knowing just how cruel it was. He couldn’t bare to stick around for an answer, “bye, Jules.” He hummed, taking a final glance. Stunned for the hundredth time by Julian’s gaze, gentle and impossible to rack one’s brain around. What a horrible feeling, to not understand the things we love or why we love them. Another mystery for another time. 

3

As Alex made his way home, earphones transmitting tunes, he thought hard about the meal he had just shared. It was difficult to know for certain how he felt. Confusion certainly made the cut, along with a feeling he knew to be longing. That was the main event in his system, the awareness running through him - he still fucking loved Julian. He squeezed his eyes tight, regretting having let the thought in. He pulled his phone out from the tuck of his back pocket, eyes sporadically flicking from the YouTube homepage up to where he walked, careful to not bump anyone. Alex slid his thumb upwards, searching his playlist for a worthy ballad. Once he found a song he deemed suitable - in that it was definitely a bad idea to be hearing, especially in the midst of heartache - he slipped the phone home and turned the volume the fuck up.

Once the isolated concert commenced, Alex let the lyrics brand themselves against his mind. The entire exchange had left him exhausted, Alex felt he’d spend the rest of his life decoding that lunch. 

As Dolores O’riordan sang his certainty of unique despair away, replacing it with a feeling of understood, Alex sighed, running his fingers through his hair - just as insistently as the harsh wind. He was getting close to his street turn-off, the crowd having sizzled out, his heart was heavy - clogged up with the chemical he knew to be love. 

_ ‘And in the day, everything’s complex.’  _ She sang,  _ ‘there’s nothing simple, when I’m not around you.’   _

As he watched his feet, spacing further and further away, Alex was met with the familiar stone path that would lead to his home. Pulling his keys out of his pocket, Alex decided he would take a bath and sleep for the next week. He lifted his anvil head, and froze. 

 

“W-wot are you doing here?” Alex asked, his mood transparent through his cold tone. “And whu...” he said, frowning as he suddenly noticed the two over-stuffed duffel bags and guitar-case. “Why…” he stumbled, pulling his earphones out as he took in the sight on his front-door steps.

 

“Wot the fuck is this?” He asked with honest to god confusion, Alex took a few steps closer, regarding Miles as if he were a stray cat. The lad smiled guiltily from where he was seated on the small stairs of Alex’ home, wearing an out-of-sorts expression and his usual flamboyantly casual get-up. He stood, crossing his arms as he shrugged slushingly. 

 

“Got evicted.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song is When You're Gone, it is sad and I just love Dolores O'riordan, rest in peace beautiful woman.  
> find me on tumblr : yvettecigarette and tell me your darkest secrets


	6. I’m a selfish animal.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BONJORR. So here is this, I decided to split this chapter into two because it was getting longgg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this tickles your fancy, let me know, even if to complain!

1

Alex’ ears rang in the absence of rushed tap-water, having comfortably adjusted to the piercing sound like white noise. With his ears below the water’s surface, the only sounds occupying his mind are his breath and treble of pulse. All other skin below his jaw submerged, sunken as the exhausted bundle of limbs and weight that is Alex’ body lay without motion. Buried under the cloudy bathwater’s smoky blanket, a liquid sheet of chemist soap. 

He shut his heavy eyelids as he mentally went over how he’d landed in his current dilemma - a difficult fate to grasp; Miles fucking Kane in his home. Deeper inbedded in his life.

He felt he’d let a pitbull into his safe place. Alex scrunched his face at the thought and covered it. Just meters away the scouser was - probably drinking in Alex’ home - his taste in decor, his obscene amount of lamps, the hole in the wall Julian had made with his head one hundred drunken goofs ago. He sighed tiredly, rubbing his brow as he looked down at his toes - sticking out of the water. He blinked slowly and wished he could call his Mum to spill his guts, or ring up Matt to vent. To know that he couldn't say a thing to anyone made Alex’ isolation clench. Was it actually possible that Miles was the only person he could talk to about this? Not that he’d ever,  _ ever  _ put either of them through something so brutal.

Of course he’d protested originally, asking Miles politely to; “fuck off to a motel, please.” To which Miles had found an answer for - he’d combated each and every protest of Alex’. 

”It won't look good for you, you know, dating a hobo”, he’d directed his arms out in a head-lining gesture, announcing journalistically; “Alex Turner dates bum...who…” Miles smirked, “...he bums” Snickering as he tacked that last part on, eliciting a joyless shove from Alex as he passed Miles and his shit to go inside - still undecided as to what he’d do. 

He ended up leaving the door wide open, that way he didn’t actually have to verbally allow anything. Alex decided he wasn’t heartless. This would be temporary he’d promised himself, as Miles lugged his bags and guitar inside, closing the door and any chance of Alex backing out behind him.

“Wot ‘appened?” Alex had asked flatly, crossing his arms over his chest as Miles took a seat on  his couch comfortably. “Told you,” Miles said, staring up at the ceiling, “got evicted.” Alex undid his arms, “no, I mean - wot did you do? T’get evicted.” He asked, frowning down at Miles like a scorned child. Miles sighed and looked up at him, “noise limits.” He said, crossing his arms as Alex’ carpet became interesting. “Noise-” Alex scoffed disbelievingly, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “So, they kicked you out - just like tha’?” Miles made an uncomfortable sound and shrugged guiltily, “not exactly…” he mumbled, avoiding Alex’ scrutiny. “It weren’t the first strike.” 

Alex thought about it, if Miles’ taste in music was as abrupt as he was, his admission seemed plausible. Miles, in his flat, blasting music at 1 AM - case closed. Alex hoped to god this placement would expire quickly, though he had a bad feeling it would stick.

“Hey, Alex?” Miles called from the other side of the bathroom door, his voice muffled. Alex missed it - peacefully oblivious under the water. It was the obnoxious knock that popped the bubble. He sat up, the bathwater slapping the tub’s edge audibly. Alex glared resentfully at the white timber frame, “Wot is it?” He called back, rubbing his eyes and instantly regretting the soapy misfortune. “Er, if I wanted a cuppa, do I just-” Alex’ spine snapped straight, “don’t you fookin’ touch me kettle!” He warned viciously, Alex heard the man behind the door groan, and sensed an eyeroll. “Then will you bloody-well make me one?” Miles snapped impatiently. Alex leaned over and checked his phone for the time, deciding he better pull the plug - his toes and fingers having pruned gruesomely. Alex groaned, “Fine, joost…” he said, reaching forward to set the soapy bathwater free, “sit down and don’t touch anything.” Alex stood and reached for his towel, wrapping himself tight in the fluffy thing. “Thank you for yer cooperation, Mr Turner.” Miles chirped sarcastically, the sound of his shoes moving away punctuating the remark. Alex rolled his eyes, reaching for his clothes-

Shit.

Alex supposed his days of walking from his bathroom to bedroom nude were over - another nostril-flaring adjustment. Alex groaned, his mind reluctantly made up. He leaned forward and tousled his hair under the towel, making it a dark mess of damp curls, then wrapped the thing around his waist. 

Alex emerged from the bathroom, determined to keep his head down as he bolted to his room. However, as he passed the small corridor connecting the bedroom to the rest of his flat, Alex’ curiosity - or perhaps lack of trust - prompted him to take a detour. He popped his head into the small living room as he passed it - one look to make sure Kane hadn't set the place on fire. The glance was so swift - Alex had turned to leave before he’d even really registered what he saw. He frowned in realization, spinning back around.

” _ Wot _ did I say?” Alex hissed, one hand on his hip with unintentional sass. Frowning from where he filled the doorway, obviously forgetting about his appearance - too busy dealing with his new flat-mate’s bad hearing. 

Miles looked up from the picture frame he observed, he’d clearly  had some snarky remark locked and loaded. However, the venom seemed to have melted when he took in Alex’ attire or lack off. His face was uncharacteristically blank, save for the hard pink on his cheeks as he blinked away and put the photo back.

It had been a picture of Alex and Julian, cheesy grins and out-of-focused love in their iphone-flashed eyes. How had he forgotten to hide that? - not only from Miles’ scrutiny but from himself - his own self-deprecation.

”Stop touching things.” Alex huffed, overlooking Miles’ averted gaze and silence. He turned and resumed his mission - a seemingly failed mission. Alex shook his head fussily as he opened his bedroom door, closing it behind him and locking it. 

When Alex reappeared into his kitchen wearing trousers and a tee, Miles was on his laptop, sitting at the counter as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Alex had an uncomfortable look on is face as he regarded Miles, though he asked with as little annoyance as possible; “‘Ow many sugars you take?” Moving to fill the kettle with tap water, “er…” Miles murmured, squinting into his laptop. Alex placed the tea bags safely inside the mugs, “two, thanks.” He answered absently, scrolling with his middle and index finger slowly. Alex nodded passively, then after the kettle had completed its task he’d asked, “wot are you lookin’ at?” Pouring the boiled water into their cups of english breakfast, the transparent liquid blooming into an earthy tone.

 

“Erm…us, actually.” Miles answered hesitantly, looking over at Alex. The man stopped his brewing and turned around, shooting Miles a lost frown. “Us?” He echoed questioningly, an uneasy feeling curling comfortably inside. He moved across the kitchen when Miles rotated his device for him, gauging his reaction - which only made Alex more uncomfortable. 

He sheepishly leaned over the counter to read the article, holding his breath. Alex’ eyes grew wider and wider with each line he scanned. His chest clenched, right in his rib, he steadied his breathing, determined to read it all. 

If Miles noticed Alex’ hand on his chest, he had probably learnt from the past and let him be. “Christ.” He grumbled directly into the screen, thankful as the sharp point between his left ribs settled. 

“Hottest couple of the century?” Alex read aloud incredulously, looking to Miles with disbelief. Miles shook his head as if to agree, “they like to lay it on thick.” He shrugged, standing to pour his milk. Alex decided to let Miles fix their tea as he regarded the blurred images attached to the page, obscene and dark with pink and green light spewing over the scene, neither one completely visible in the dim club’s obscurity. But Alex’ memory - no matter how patchy - lent a hand in recalling what went on that night. 

His stomach twisted as he scrolled, wondering how many people he knew had seen these. 

They’d been rather drunk if these pictures had anything to say about it - they stood impossibly close to each other, dancing their arses off to whatever was playing. Alex was about to close the laptop - done with the swirl of trouble the pics had stirred within him, but was pulled back by something. 

 

It was Miles. A message found in the drunken grin that he had on, it was suddenly something Alex needed deciphered. He unconsciously leaned in closer, observing the look on the lad’s face. He was smiling at Alex like...like- “‘ow much milk you take?” Miles butted in from across the room, Alex pulled back and shut the laptop. “Uh-two.” He quipped with flustered simplicity, then his mind caught up - “I-I mean...not much, I-I like it strong.” He rephrased accordingly, blushing dumbly. Miles snickered, attention already having returned to the tea. 

Miles placed Alex’ mug on the counter next to him and slinked pass, moving casually across the open-plan space and into the living room. Alex watched Miles take a seat on his sofa, sticking his feet on the coffee table comfortably. It was then that Alex realised there were boundaries to be set. “Okay, no.” Alex said, leaving his tea behind as he approached Miles. 

Alex came to stand between the sofa and coffee table where Miles’ socked feet rested on, “move yer feet.” He told him neutrally, knowing Miles wasn't vain enough to fight him on this. When the man grunted and did as Alex asked he took a seat on the small table. Now Miles faced him completely, this meant he had to listen to what Alex needed heard. Alex cleared his throat, “you’ll pay rent.” Alex began with minimal hostility, watching Miles for his reaction. The man simply nodded, taking a sip of his pale tea. “You’ll clean up after yerself,” he continued, ”you’ll be respectful of me stuff.” To it Miles smirked, shaking his head, “anythin’ else, yer majesty?” He asked sweetly, smiling up at Alex. The man glared at Miles’ manor, he stood and spat very seriously; “I don’t  _ have _ to let you stay here.” Miles’ smirk dropped and his face turned firm, he looked up at Alex and slowly nodded - cockiness having hit the road. 

 

Miles was manageable for the rest of the evening, no more smart-assery, or rudeness. Alex enjoyed that dominance, more than he thought  he would. He’d never admit to it, not even to himself, but it’d felt fucking incredible to have put the Scouse in his place. To have made him obey.

When Miles had suggested they order pizza Alex had agreed almost instantly -  _ so  _ not in the mood for cooking. After giving the dashing pizza delivery-boy a tip, and received goo-goo eyes from him, Miles had closed the door with an eye roll as he took the pizza boxes over to the kitchen. 

”That one’s cute.” Alex had murmured as he took the garlic bread Miles held out for him, the two sat cross legged. Alex reading a book while eating  _ and  _ stealing short glances at the telly, he watched with quizzical captivation, catching glimpses of the world that seemed to enthrall Miles to no end. The boxer’s televised aggression made Alex uneasy, so his sneak peaks were short lived but he got the gist. Miles had muttered something under his breath to Alex’ original remark, shaking his head. 

Alex didn’t completely hate this - what was unfolding here. It was true they’d become something new to each other over this past week, maybe not friends, but that fuelless resentment seemed only murmured now. Alex would catch himself smirking in secret as Miles hissed and cursed at the sweaty anarchists on telly, taking anxious bites from his margarita pizza. 

A few hours later Alex had dropped bedding onto Miles lap, when the lad looked up - knocked out of is boxer-spectator zone - Alex explained, “I’ll make up yer room tomorrow.” Leaving Miles to it.

Alex had decided he’d rearrange his music studio as a room for Miles, he didn’t go in there so much anyway...

“Er…m’gonna call it a night.” Alex had said, after he’d given in and helped Miles with his bedding. 

“Oh...nigh’.” He answered quietly, though not rudely. “If you need anything...” Alex smiled, “don’t bother me.” To that Miles threw a pillow at him, Alex had snickered, throwing it back as he began making for his bed to sleep for all eternity.  But then; 

“Hey - uh...Alex?” Miles called from where he took his socks off - already half sunken into the couch. Alex was halfway out the doorway when he turned back around, “Yeah?” He replied, looking back at Miles. He was looking away - something fascinating on the floor. “Thank you.” 

Alex smiled kindly, deciding that the only way he’d get through this was peacefully. “You  _ are  _ me boyfriend.” He stated cutely, reaching over to flick the light off. 

As Alex brushed his teeth he found himself somewhat grateful for the distraction of Miles - he hadn’t thought of Julian once since he’d found the Scouser at his door. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant situation the two lads were in, but they were in it. Alex sat himself down on the bathtub’s edge, deciding to go over the pros for a change.

Pro: living with Miles would undoubtedly strengthen their lie. Pro: less rent to pay. Pro: Miles makes a mean cuppa tea. He scoffed at himself and spat the spearmint out.

When Alex curled up under his thick blankets the time read 11:09, he was kind of proud of himself for having stayed up and not passed out from irritation. As he flicked the orange hue of his lamp off, Alex’ phone spat a pale light into the room where it sat on his bedside table. He groaned and blindly reached out for it, holding it in front of his squinting eyes. 

His stomach split and heart bounded when Alex read the words:  _ I miss you. _

It was from Jules.

2

“And, Mr Turner, may I ask what this appointment is regarding?” Inquired the chirpy receptionist on the other end, Alex gathered his words and answered hesitantly; “Erm, well...I-I’ve been ‘aving sum chest pains…” Attempting to sound unaffected, he cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair. “M’sure it’s nowt, but...I’d joost like to have it checked out.” He murmured into the phone, the device clutched by icy fingers as he camped out on his porch. “Yes, of course Mr Turner, we look forward to receiving you this afternoon.” Replied the sweet girl, repeating the doctor’s appointment for him once more before ending the call. 

Alex set free a thick exhale as he placed the cell onto his lap, reclining just a little more in the straw chair - one of two on his small front-porch. He put the cigarette he’d meant to light before his phone call between his lips, lighting up before he plumed a stream of smoke into the chilly air. He cradled the nicotine beast between his icy fingers, reaching with his free hand for his coffee that sat on the small table beside him. Alex took a swig and closed his heavy eyes, cursing his sleepless night. He’d dedicated hours of the evening trying to drift off, only to be anchored to consciousness by that bloody text-message. Julian seemed to have developed a talent for killing Alex, one encounter at a time.

_ I miss you _ \- those goddam words again. 

He shot his eyes open - staring at the thin vertical glimpses of traffic peaking  through the fencing that surrounded his home. He couldn’t be trusted in the company of himself these days - too much room to think, so on impulse or habit, Alex found himself setting his mug aside and  dialing Matt’s number.

As the rings of call persisted, Alex wondered if he shouldn’t hang up and try his luck later - but then; “H-hullo?” Matt croaked, grunting and clearing his groggy tone. Alex flinched, “I’ve woken you ‘avent I?” He asked guiltily, taking a long drag. Matt yawned, loud. “N-...well, yes, but it’s fine.” He assured with sleepy conviction, Alex smiled to it tenderly - selfishly too needy for Matt’s reassurance to insist he go back to sleep. 

“Wot’s up?” Matt asked with comforting simplicity, Alex could somehow hear that he’d lied back down. Probably staring up at  his ceiling, probably hoping Alex would leave him alone. Suddenly Alex felt lost for words, which only fed his guilt for having woken up his friend. “N-no, it- it’s...” He stuttered, shaking his head to himself, visibly cringing - he took a drag, hoping the cigarette would fill his palette with the words he felt.

“You alright?” Matt asked gently, no irritation or exhaustion in it. Alex let go a quiet breath, rubbing his brow with the cigarette held hand. “Y-yeah…” He basically asked - no certainty in his tone whatsoever. “Wot ‘appened?” Matt asked attentively, somehow knowing exactly how to approach Alex’ traffic jammed mind. “Who’s arse do I need to kick?” He joked, if his intention had been to lighten Alex’ mood, it had worked. He smiled freely, tapping the burnt end of his cig over the ash-tray. “N-no one.” Alex tittered, Matt chuckled on the other end, “Miles reverting to his old ways?” He suddenly asked lightly, which Alex felt oddly defensive about. “W-wot? F’course not, Matt.” He reassured simply, hoping Matt couldn't hear the disarmament. 

His mind filled with the image of Miles this morning. Alex had lugged himself out of bed to make himself a warm, caffeinated drink and was taken aback by the creature branched out like a weed across his sofa. Alex tilted his head in amusement at how Miles’ spider legs hung over the end of the furniture, like he were a doll on tiny furniture. His hair hid his nose and cheeks, creamy skin split up by that umber, unruly tuft.

Alex took unintentional note of the man’s defenceless, unbarricaded expression. 

He was a pretty sleeper.

Matt laughed, “only teasin’.” He said, “told ‘im if he broke yer ‘eart, I’d break ‘is neck.” Alex covered his mouth as he suppressed his cackling, “you  _ didn’t _ !” He hissed into the phone, his stomach beginning to sting from repressed giggles. “I did...’” Matt sighed, knowing his warning to have been rather extreme. Alex wanted to reach through the phone and hug the lad, then punch him and his hostile humor. “Please don’t break me boyfriend’s neck.” He smirked, looking down at his thick socks. Matt  chuckled, Alex could hear him nodding. “We - uh, we moved in t’gether…” Alex admitted, verifying his current misplacement. Matt stopped laughing, the phone call growing quiet. 

“You - you did?” He prodded carefully, Alex nodded, and then remembered Matt wasn’t really here. “Yeh, he’s-uh...inside sleepin’ as we speak.” Where was this coming from? Alex didn’t know, but it felt good to be at least kind-of talking about his situation - he realised that if he was telling little truths around the lie, he could relieve some of the pressure inside him.

“Woah, Al, that - that’s big.” Matt breathed, knowing that Alex had only packed up the last of Julian’s things a mere month ago. 

The thought stung his chest, the sensation causing him to frown sadly down at his hands - the calluses having healed due to his recent musical neglect. 

“I-I know…” he agreed lowly, sighing, “but it’s…” he thought about it, what was it? To be fair, it hadn’t even been a day. Alex decided that now was the time to hoist his facade front and center once more, “it’s such a good feeling.” He said dreamily, “to ‘ave him ‘ere wif me.” To it Matt hummed and said kindly, “I’m glad.” Alex swallowed his morals once more, steadying his picked-up breath.

“I-er, I think I’ll let you go...sorrey for wakin’ you.” Alex stuck his cig between his teeth as he sat forward, elbows on separated knees as he dropped his head, phone held to his ear weakly. “Nah, anytime Alex. I mean it.” He said, turning Alex’ stomach stone with guilt. “Give Miles a shove from me, yeah? An’ see you soon.” Alex swallowed thickly, head still dropped as he studied his knitted socks. “For sure, thanks Maffew.” He said with so much honesty it hurt. 

When Alex lifted his hung head slowly, he was met with the same limbs that had been occupying his sofa moments ago. As is eyes climbed Miles’ tracksuit pants he eventually met the man’s tired eyes, he’d obviously woken recently. “Did - did I wake you?” Alex wondered aloud, brows knitting up at the man. Miles shook his head with a sleepy curl of the lips - he was nice when he was decaf. 

The man leaned in so close Alex actually felt his skin preparing for contact, but the only sensation he felt was the abscenes of his cigarette as Miles stole it. He nodded to Alex in lieu of thanks, moving to sit next to him in the only other seat out here. Alex picked up his coffee, sipping at the harsh snap of caffeine and warmth. He spied at Miles out the corner of his eye, he looked so comfortable in his trackies and uncontrolled hair, his face was weightful with sleep much like how Alex felt. Alex looked at his half empty cup of dark brown, “‘ow did you sleep?” He asked, wondering somewhat guiltily how the couch-life was treating him.

“Er, yeah, good….” Miles pieced together, “think I’ll be sore for a while.” He tacked on, referring to his compromising acrobatic sleeping posture. 

Alex smirked, lifting and crossing his legs as he played with his cardigan’s zipper. “Well, you  _ were _ sleeping at quite an angle.” He smiled sympathetically at Miles, showing him he meant him no harm this morning. Miles was smiling at his hands, rubbing at the skin before taking another pull of smoke. He shrugged and gauged Alex when he explained simply; “I’m pretty flexible.” 

To that, Alex had scandalously choked on the sip of coffee he had taken. He looked away and put the mug down, clearing his throat.

He was planning to change the subject, say  _ something _ , respond in a form other than involinarying choking. “You okay?” Miles chuckled with a little coy look - which Alex didn’t even try to understand. “Yup, joost went down the wrong way.” He replied simply, knuckle to his chest. Miles looked away and bit his lip to stop from smiling at Alex’ outburst. 

Alex was staring hard at the ground when Miles suddenly asked; “Yer going to the doctors?” He was snubbing out the cig over the steel ash-tray when Alex’ eyes found him, “Wot? Oh, er , yeah…” Alex verified lowly decideding there was no harm in it, though he wondered what else Miles had heard. “For yer...chest?” Miles prodded carefully, struggling to make the inquiry casual. Alex bit the sides of his cheeks and tried to not appear as nervous about it as he was, when he turned to face Miles he reciprocated. They looked at each other indirectly - Miles at Alex’ knitted cardi, Alex at Miles messied hair. “Yeh, I- It’s joost a check-up.” He explained, and Miles nodded softly, “right.” He said passively, crossing one leg over the over, blowing Alex’ mind once more with their length.

“So, I were thinkin’...” Miles began hesitantly, eyes on Alex’ coffee mug that sat on the table between them. Then his gaze flicked up to Alex who waited patiently for elaboration, “careful,” Alex replied coolly, “that stuff’s dangerous.” Miles snickered and smiled widely at Alex, it felt like a punch to the gut, it felt really good. “Please, do tell…” Alex encouraged simply, finishing off his coffee with no more cough-ups. 

“Well...it hit me last night,” Miles said, crossing his arms to keep warm. Alex narrowed his eyes unconsciously, suddenly quite curious. 

The man across from him frowned at the floor as he continued. “You...you’re the only person...I can actually talk to about..you know...this entire thing we’re doin’, and me for you.” Alex bit his lip nervously and found himself staring at the point Miles was, the glossed timber planks with scattered leaves here and there. Swept occasionally by the breeze.

“You’re right.” Alex mindlessly said out loud, remembering having thought the same thing. Miles narrowed his eyes as him, the side of his mouth lifting. “So...I figured - I wondered...why be assholes to each other?” Alex’ head jerked back slightly, taken aback by the man’s frankness. Alex found himself giggling slightly, which Miles chuckled in answer to. Alex bit his lips from smiling, “not an ‘orrible idea,” he gifted laughingly, watching Miles smiling with genuinity behind his coral teeth. Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So...wot? Truce, then?” He ventured, watching Miles. He looked up at Alex and smirked, “yeah, truce.” He agreed, offering a contract in from of handshake. Alex shook his head almost fondly and then reached across the small distance to shake the offering, sensationally slapped by the warmth of Miles rough hands, like paper. He didn’t dare attempt eye contact, the act had always seem so intimate to him. So he took a mental snapshot of the miracle that was Miles’ and Alex’ entwined in treaty.

3

After Miles had showered, he’d appeared in pale slacks, a dark shirt and darker jacket, notifying Alex that he would be out for most of the day. He had a meeting with his agent, “summat about us, he said.” To which Alex had frowned at him questioningly, “us?” He echoed, turning from his dish scrubbing. “Yeh, an interview he says.” Miles explained, drabbing his bag as he secured a flashy watch. 

Interview? Alex’ gut solidified, he tried to hush the spikey feeling in his chest. “Oh.” Alex murmured on exhale, scrubbing the frying-pan so hard he could’ve broken it. “Joost a local station, nowt too crazy.” He said, running his slender fingers through hair-dried chestnut. Alex caught himself lingering on the mod creature across the room, checking his phone. Alex could tell from where he did the dishes that Miles had used Alex’ soap, now the lad smelt like his home. 

“We’re trending again.” He mentioned, locking the device and slipping it away. “Where?” Alex wondered, racking the traumatized pan. Miles snorted, “everywhere.” Alex shook his head, smiling dumbly at the silly thought. 

“Cool, so I...I’ll see you, you know, later…” stuttered Miles as he neared the front-door, “see you then.” Alex imparted tamely, attention always on the soapy myriad of plates.

About an hour or so before Alex’ appointment, he was in his music studio, almost done preparing the space for Miles. He’d packed his electronic piano up, hung the guitars he would use most frequently on one wall, and suited up the rest. Tucking away leeds and sound-boards he’d once worshiped, Alex removed the boxes and shite that occupied the large bed, making it and adding a profuse amount of pillows in lieu of ‘sorry about the couch’. 

He sighed contently at  his hard work, the area was as neat as it could be. The bohemian rug vacumed, the Monet his Mother had gifted him was hung, and he’d even cleared a surface for Miles, in case the creative-bug hit. As Alex was about to turn to leave, prepare for going out shortly, he stopped. Rotating slowly to regard the honey-like acoustic hanging on the wall beside him, he looked at the instrument with helplessness. He hadn’t touched any of his guitars or equipment in what felt like forever, he felt hopeless when he thought about it. Aside from feeling disconnected from expression, it was as if everyone was counting on him to pick his music back up.

It wasn’t artist block, truth be told, it felt like being creatively paralized - suspended. Alex realised that Miles was probably the only one who hadn’t asked about it - made him explain, even if casually, what was with the dry-spell. Alex inhaled as he shut his eyes, turning and closing the door behind him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t think ‘truce’ deducts the prospect of hate-shagging ;) not that I’m hinting at it...come and discuss your tea preferences with me on Le tumblr: yvettecigarette


	7. maybe we're loyal, maybe we're not.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello there friends! Enjoy this thing that i guess I wrote??  
> Title: Paloma Faith (my wife)

1

The waiting-room exhibited a failed attempted to comfort, the scarcely populated space greeted Alex with the scent of disinfectant and soap, the stench - along with a false sense of hope hung from hooks - stuck to the dusty pink walls. After Alex had nervously checked in at the front desk, he’d taken a seat and pulled out his phone, going straight for Julian’s text.

Alex knew from the past that if he didn’t respond soon, Julian would resort to calling him - he was not one for spamming. The thought of something as cornering as a phone-call made Alex stir - the thought of being spoken to by that man shook him. What if Jules used his super-human abilities - which Alex _knew_ he had - to see right through him and his treachery? Alex bit his bottom lip anxiously, tapping the keypad with sluggish conviction.

After five minutes he’d managed:

_‘Julian…’_

He must have deleted that name four times. An uneasy feeling churned in his gut, his fingers trembling in anticipation. What could he say? How could he sound put-together, when he himself didn’t believe it? He knew he needed to reply, but instead settled on prolonging the inevitable. He couldn’t handle the possible implications of a text message, the risk of Jules misconstruing what he’d meant, how he longed for the feather-and-ink days.

 

“Mr Turner?” Called the polite clip of his gp, Alex stood, tucking his cellular tormentor away as he followed the practitioner.

Her office was pale blue, littered with anatomy diagrams in the form of posters and 3d models. There was one central window, though this was not the tomb’s light source - the ribbed blinds were not drawn, instead the over-head pale light lit the space with cold comfort.

“Now, Alex, what can I do for you today?” Dr Harman asked, smiling at him as she sat at her desk. Alex took a breath and began explaining both clearly and lightly his situation.

He relayed the specific sensation he’d experience, the tight pinch in what felt like under his left rib, the duration of these happenings as well as a brief gloss-over - mentioning his own opinion that this was probably mere heart-burn - not that he had a medical degree.

 

The doctor nodded, eyes narrowing as her mind was inevitably forming possible diagnoses, her drawn brows knitted as she listened. Once Alex had decided he’d said enough, she began with a harmless; “okay.” As if confirming she’d heard him while indicating that she, herself was still processing the issue. She rolled back in her wheeled seat, pressing alive her computer.  As the electronic assistant fired up, Dr Harman rotated to face Alex, who, for his part was a little confused. He’d been certain the Dr would shake her head in amusement to his ridiculous worries, scold him for wasting her time even. But instead she hadn’t said a word of reassurance, safe for the ‘okay’. Alex was cracking his knuckles unconsciously when the woman crossed one leg over the other and linked her hands over her knee.

 

“Alex,” she began monotone, “what you’ve described to me is what we refer to as an anxiety attack.” Alex’ mouth hung open as his brows knitted in confusion, he opened his mouth to reply, but shut it again as he realised he had yet to understand what had just been said.

He shook his head lightly, looking down at the floor as if the answer were there.

“I-I’m sorry,” He frowned at this feet, “anxiety...?” He asked with diluted nervousness, when he looked up Dr Harman was clicking consciously over her computer, on the hunt for patient resources no doubt.

 

“But,” Alex contradicted brokenly, “but, I don’t ‘ave anxiety, I - I mean I’ve never…” he searched his mind for logic or something like it. The news was not sinking in, it sounded too strange on his tongue.

“It isn’t uncommon, Alex.” She assured, turning to him, clicking the print button. “However, seeing as you have no history of anxiety, I must ask…” she began carefully, taking the printed page and folding it tightly between her colourless nails. “Have you undergone any recent lifestyle shifts? Something that could be triggering these episodes?” Alex went blank, an uncomfortable look on his face as he scanned the history of himself. “I, uh…” he started without thinking, his innermost self-preservation demanding he shut up.

“I joost got out of a long-term relationship…” He admitted in a reed thin voice, inspecting his hands. The doctor nodded, her concentrated look urging him to continue. But what else could Alex add? ‘Oh and also, I’ve began dating my arch nemesis for not only media recognition, but the attention of my ex.’ When Dr Harman saw the boy had no more, she nodded with finality.

“I see.” She said with both professionalism and compassion. “But…” Alex wondered aloud, feeling verbally inept. “Do you...do you think, you know - that’s the reason for…” he made an indirect hand movement to indicate his situation, the Dr nodded once more, though it seemed mostly to herself this time. “I believe it’s taken a toll.”

 

It felt like liberation to hear someone else say it, because fuck yes it’s taken a toll. Even with his remaining disbelief regarding the ‘anxiety attacks’, Alex recognised how freeing it was to have some form of verbal validation, even if confirming a symptom. Harman smiled reassuringly at him and then she took a stilling breath - which couldn’t be indicating anything good…

 

“I’ve printed off the names of a few local practices for you to have a look at,” she began delicately. “Therapy is the best thing I can recommend to you, Alex. There are medications for anxiety, but it isn’t my belief that it should be the first approach.” She handed the item to Alex who took it from her with a blank mind and expression.

 

After Alex had left the Medical Center, referral sheet in hand, he’d called a taxi. As he stood awaiting his carriage, Alex began inspecting the paper he held, unfolding the tight crease as he absentmindedly held his breath. The page was all typed, save for Dr Harman’s signature, there were about four or five options for Alex. His sternum stung and stomach soured, he regarded the worrying sheet with an in-pained expression. Alex swallowed thick and folded the piece none too gently, slipping it with disregard into his back pocket as his lift pulled up.

 

The entire appointment had put him down. Where he’d expected clarity, he’d received something he was finding incomprehensible. He supposed it made sense - when he really thought about it. But the occurrence felt rickety, and he couldn’t decide how he felt.

He was almost certain he would not be calling any of these places - he felt seeking help undoubtedly implied that you were in need of it. How could he put himself in that spot?

 

Alex didn’t have a smile, or a quarter of one on his face when he got home. As he crossed the thin street to get to his docking-station of a house, he essentially froze halfway across the road. Spotting an unfamiliar car parked out front. He continued his journey hesitantly, frowning confusedly at the reflective-black vehicle as if it were a forgien concept, wondering if someone hadn’t just parked where they didn’t belong.

“Is, uh, is that thing out-front yours?” Alex asked uncomfortably as he slinked inside, misery from earlier still intact. Miles was in the kitchen, head bent over a piece of paper he was scribbling on. He was in a far more casual outfit now, however still appeared far too put-together for it not to irritate Alex.

This treaty was a nice thought, but Alex’ underlying defences against Miles remained. A good part of Alex still saw him as foe - it’d take time for comfortability to come naturally.

The Scouse lifted his head and had an expression of almost guilty realisation, “Oh, er yeah, sorrey I were gonna say…is, erm, is that okay?”

Alex groaned in disinterested affirmation, dropping his house-keys into the bowl by the door, throwing the referral along with his wallet onto the coffee table as he passed it.

Alex dropped miserably to the couch with a filter-less sigh - a broken, sad, horrible, fucked sigh.

 

“Alreight?” Asked the man across the distance, attention remaining on his writing.

“Peachy.” Alex mumbled, laying on his back with an arm draped over his eyes.

He sighed a little too deeply and soon felt the water-works coming on, Alex pulled his cumbersome body up from the disheartening sofa and made a beeline for his room - refusing to give Miles the satisfaction or view of vulnerability. However, apparently Miles had other plans.

As Alex passed the lad he was struck still by the disarmingly domestic words; “we’re going shopping, get yer coat.”

Alex had to pause, rotating slowly as he pierced Miles with a mathematical etch on his face. Then he asked rather exhaustedly, “Wot?” frowning at what he figured to be a grocery-list being folded by Miles’s distracting hands. “Shoppin’.” Was the man’s simple reiteration.

“Uhm, n-no, you go.” Alex said passively, looking at his own hands. He just wanted to be alone.

“Wot? No, yer comin’.” Miles insisted simply, moving past Alex, collecting his own coat and wallet. “Miles,” Alex sighed, rubbing forehead. “I joost - I don’t-” these struggled objections were swept aside once more, “-Alex, it’s _yer_ responsibility ta keep me from filling yer kitchen wiff shit.” He reminded Alex pointedly, which he truly couldn’t deny. Rolling his eyes as a sign of defeat, Alex moved back in the direction he came from.

“Besides,” Miles added,  “your current pantry selection personally offends me.” Alex frowned inwardly.  “Wot does tha’ mean?” He asked annoyedly as he moved to his coat, slipping it on and grabbing his wallet. “It means yer in desperate need of my help.” Miles answered simply, opening the door for Alex, who drifted through, wondering how he’d caved so quickly.

 

2

Alex swallowed a bitter response when in the car Miles told him about their upcoming interview, a troubled feeling gluing itself to his gut. A week from now they’d be spilling their lies into the studio’s microphones, Alex suddenly felt dependant on Miles’ talent for misdirection. As the hum of acceleration vibrated under his seat, Alex looked over at the fingered hands contacting the steering wheel, drifting with each desired turn. He bitterly admitted it; this was better than a cab.

 

The air conditioned store was quiet this time of day, the freezer aisle breathed with a particular arctic welcome. Alex held the trolley’s plastic-red handle bar as they gravited like grocery snails. He didn’t mind Miles’ picky tastes in cheese in this moment, as he found himself staring into their trolley. Stocked and full as they were almost done, they spoke little, Miles might ask Alex which cereal he preferred, ask if he minded almond milk, but Alex believed Miles knew him to be in a mellow mood. He liked that about Miles - he didn’t hover when unneeded.

“Alex?” Miles had asked for the third time, looking over at him from further down the aisle. Alex looked up from his floor-gazing to meet Miles harmless expression, he light-heartedly smiled at Alex, which he couldn’t help but return - he was honestly too tired to be a cunt.

Miles was walking over to him now, eyes scanning his shopping list. “Think that’s everythin’.” He notified satisfactorily, tucking the note away. Alex smiled once more to it, words vacating his pallette. “You alright?” Miles murmured, looking at Alex’ hands instead of eyes - as if aware he wasn’t aloud to ask these things. “Miles-” Alex began, but Miles assured “I know - I know  m’not aloud to ask that…” the words lingered between them and the unmoving dairy section. Alex set out a quiet breath, nodding at the ground, “I’m alriegh’ - I am. Joost, tired an’ probableh ‘ungry.” To that Miles grinned and patted him on the back, “well, I can certainly fix that last part, laa, you ever ‘ad beef stroganoff?” Alex ignored the swell in his chest at Miles’ touch, looking at him and shaking his head, “I have not.” He lied, smiling up at the musician/ apparent chef. “Yer in for a treat,” he flattered humorously, “c’mon, let’s pay an’ go.” Miles settled behind the cart, they began making their way past the seafood section, heading for the check out.

 

“Oh, look!” Miles gushed all of a sudden, seizing his journey abruptly as Alex almost slammed into him. The boy grunted and straightened up, “Wot is it?” He asked tiredly, “Miles, c’mon you said we were done.” He droned, crossing his arms as he watched the lad drift away. Miles parked their trolley by the glass trough filled with ice and on top - fishy corpses. “Thought you said we were ‘aving beef.” Alex muttered as he scrunched up his nose, but when he turned to Miles he wasn’t interested in the veil or cod or whatever, instead he held a small jar of; “Hmm, caviar…” the man hummed, reading the label with academic attention. Alex shook his head immediately, who did he think was? The Queen? “Miles, no, put it back, we cannot afford to spend that much on fookin’ fish eggs.” Miles whined, turning to pout at Alex, “why not?” He pleaded like a child, Alex’ response was a sigh and head-shake. “Because I said so.” Alex verified firmly, taking the jar and setting in back on the rack. Miles crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Alex with playful challenge, Alex lifted his brows as if to confirm his refusal. Miles tutted once, then chuckled, looking down at the open eyed sea life, “you know wot?” He giggled, “I think we should see other people.” Alex bit back a smirk of budding laughter, enjoying the tittering banter. He was chuckling lightly when Miles shot him a pretend face of heartbroken seriousness, he shook his head fondly and shoved the lad’s side with his hip.

Once Miles surrendered the prospect of caviar, and they were about to resume their travels to the checkout, an unasked response came from an unfamiliar voice. Alex and Miles indentically tensed when the word: “faggots.” Was muttered under someone’s breath, that ugly word turning the earth sour. Miles was the one to seek the conveyor of blatant homophobia, and there he was - to their right a little way off he was. The man was perhaps a little older than them. The kind of bloke Alex and Miles were the subject of disgrace to, the kind of man one easily disliked. He wasn’t even looking in their direction, he must’ve spilled that word as if to remark on the weather.

Alex’ blood took an unfamiliar heat, he waited for Miles to say something - it seemed so obvious that he would, by the look in his eye. But instead the scouse gritted his teeth, jaw ticking as he averted his gaze, glaring at the fishy bastards once more. Alex seethed and he realised he was angry - angry with that prick, angry with Miles for his silence, angry with his gp for thinking she had any clue as to what he was going through, and angry with Julian for existing perfectly fine without him.

Alex was going to punch him, or demand to know his problem. But just as he turned to march over to the bastard, Miles took his forearm tightly in his hand. Pulling him in close, Alex looked up at him in bitter confusion. Miles sighed, closing his eyes as he shook his head. “Ignore ‘im, ‘es not worth it.” Alex’ head shot back, he frowned up at the man holding him and pulled  himself free. “But,” Alex gritted, looking over at the footie-shirted man, “he can’t joost...say things like tha’.” Miles sighed and looked away, “I know...I...I know.” Miles mumbled, “let’s...let’s joost go home, hey?” He suggested, trying to alleviate the situation brokenly. Alex opened his mouth to snap back in disgrace, but before the words formed there came a dangerous stream - a sense of scheme expanding quickly.

Before Miles could turn to attach his hands to the cart’s handle, Alex sank both of his into either arm of the boy. Miles turned his attention to Alex immediately, “Alex, _ow”_ he hissed, “ - wot are you-” but Alex called over the lad’s complaining, hollering to the bloke who had cursed them; “Oi, mate!” Miles’ face went white as they both watched the stranger’s eyes glued to them.  Alex says no more but supplies plenty of meaning when he presses a hard, lasting kiss to Miles’ polar lips. He feels Miles gasp into it, but shuts his eyes and pushes through, needing the point made. The kiss was closed and chaste, but within the brief occurrence Alex had to pretend that this wasn’t the first kiss he’d had since Jules. Moreso pretended it didn’t feel...good.

When the event expired Alex didn’t watch Miles but felt him look away as he smirked at the victim, the man looked rather startled as he turned pink and moved quickly away. When he looked back Alex was pleasantly surprised to find Miles giggling, his cheeks red as he rubbed his forehead. “You.” Miles said, pointing a finger to Alex’ chest, “you are bloody mad, Turner.” Alex smiled and shrugged coyly, moving to push the trolley along, sensing Miles trailing like an obedient duckling close behind.

They spent the car-ride home in giggled conversation - Miles accrediting Alex all of the due respect for his act, his haste, his cheek and his ability to move from zero to one-hundred on cue. “Yer a fookin’ firecracker.” Miles declared fondly, taking a right turn to enter Alex’ street, “I am unashamed” Alex triumphantly chuckled in response, Miles parked - commending; “and so you should be.” With a million-watt grin.

A few hours later into the evening and Alex is surrounded by a number of forgien effects, first and foremost - the smells occupying his flat. He can smell the rich flavours from where he reads, planted contently in the living room on a bean bag Miles had decided was worth bringing on his move. It’s rather worn, but Alex has supplemented the lack of plush with a shocking stock of cushions. He sits rather lazily, one leg resting over a knee as he licks a finger to turn the page. Another unfamiliar happening is the sounds coupling the scent in his home, he lifts his eyes from the text he reads to regard the man in his kitchen - singing along with the radio as he cut onion. “Ah, fuck...” Miles sniffles, Alex frowns and smirks, “wot is it?” He asks, watching him with amusement as well concern. He snickered when Miles looks upon from his veggie mincing all teary-eyed, nose red and grin large. “It’s the onion I swear.” He sobs, wiping his eyes with his arm - hands indisposed. Alex nods with a patronizing humor, his admitted giggles muffled by a closed mouth.

After perhaps half an hour and a few chapters on Alex’ part, Miles is beckoning him to the steamy kitchen. Alex is chuckling from the gut when he catches the floral apron fastened to Miles’ waist, it catches the lad’s attention, he glares from where he fries the bastard onions and begins instructing Alex. “Add the pasta when I say, yeah? Joost a little at a time.” Miles directs, his patient tone reminded one of that single teacher you didn’t mind. Alex nodded, holding the box of egg-noodle as he leaned in close to the smoggy brew. Miles stirred and for some oddly-fascinating reason, whispered: “‘kay, go on…” Alex nodded once more and broke apart a fraction, placing the hay-like bail into the deep pan. “Perfect, Alex.” He hummed, resulting in an instant shudder from Alex. When his eyes darted to check if he’d been discovered, Miles hadn’t batted an eye - attention stitched to dinner. Alex swallowed thick, grateful for the cover of steam to shield his flushed face. After the box was empty, Alex was keen to return to his book - or perhaps, depart from whatever was happening here. “Thank you, Jamie Oliver.” Miles called over his shoulder, Alex gave him a theatrically fake-laugh, cornering the counter.

However, just as he was about to sink back into the squish of the tired, old bean-bag, Miles was calling to him over the hissing sizzle of mince. “Is that yours?” He hollered, Alex perked up and regarded him. Between the seconds it took Miles to turn down the flame, and move towards Alex’ phone that sat on the counter, the sound of the ringtone implied something. Alex stiffened, a horrible suspicion wrapped around him like a chord. It wasn’t him - it wouldn’t be… “Wait, M-Miles - don’t-” Alex tried, flying across the room in time to catch the look on Miles face. It said it all, the resentful glare towards the caller ID, soon met by a cruel, inward smirk as he slid to answer.

“ _Miles_!” Alex hissed disbelievingly, like a Mother catching her child sneaking desert. “D-dont, don’t-” he contoured his face to that of pain as Miles held the phone to his ear, rising to his tip-toes so that Alex couldn’t reach the mobile.

Alex held his breath.

“This is Alex’ phone?” Miles greeting chirpily, smiling at Alex like a big-bad-brother. The boy death-stared him and clenched his fists, awaiting confirmation as to what he suspected.

Miles’ face lit with false delight, and that’s when Alex knew.

“Julian!” He beamed, Alex scrambled to snatch the phone away, but Miles was a wall.

“Yes, yes.” He nodded with a beaming tone, “oh, Alex?” Miles looked at Alex, brewing a response.

Alex’ eyes clouded with rage, he hated him. Hated. Him.

“He’s joost getting out of the shower…” Miles explained to the man on the other line, Alex gasped and gave Miles a violent shove. The taller man faltered, stumbling, enough so that Alex stole back the phone. He pressed it to his ear, certain he was breathing fire as he stared at the floor - too disgusted to look at Miles. “Jules, Julian - I…” Alex could feel Miles’ eyes on him, “I’m sorry - he’s an idiot.” Alex gritted, glaring at Miles when the Scouse let out an irritated _‘hey’. Alex’ blood simmered - the fucking nerve, for _him_ to imply offense. _

“Julian?” Alex tried once more, brows knitted with dread. The line was as quiet as death.

Alex’ face was expressionless as he lowered the phone, jaw clenched in silent fury. He nearly slammed his cell onto the bench as he turned his attention, speaking nowt as his nostrils flared. “Wot…” Alex seethed in a barely audible growl, “is wrong with you?”

Confusion plastered itself over Miles’ stupid face, he raised his shoulders and shook his head - “I-I don’t, are you serious?” He chuckled incredulously, hands out and palms up to display his bewilderment - and that’s when Alex lost it.

“ _Why_ are you - _what_ is your-” He yelled thickly, clasping his hands to his skull, tightened fingers in locks as he boiled. “Why would you do that? You fucking…” the adjective came out as a groan, Miles’ head shot back as he approached Alex - bad idea.

“ _Alright_ , alright, don’t get yer knickers in a twist!” Miles snarled, his perplexity replaced by barbed defence.

“Fuck you! God, and to think that I…” Alex cut himself off with self-depricating head shake, “but _no_ , no - yer tha same fookin’ asshole - stupid as ever!” Now Miles pierced Alex with an almost  threatening glare, he scoffed icily, his nose pulled in disgust. “Fuck you, Alex.” He muttered bitterly, “fuck you and yer bitching, and yer complaining and yer fookin’ attitude…” the younger man now began inching closer to Alex, “fuck yer fookin’ _moping_ ,” Miles continued lowly, entering the older lad’s space. Alex’ breath hitched when Miles came towering over him, “fuck yer stubbornness, and fuck yer tempter.”

Alex scowled up him, the heavy cry of Jefferson Airplane coming from the still-performing radio. Then something became known. The union between suddenly deep breathing and trembling atmosphere indicated a contrasting shift in motive. Alex eyes locked with sinful traction to Miles’ hazel orbs of threat, suddenly he was being pulled into those eyes of stone - sucked into Miles’ space as if each atom they were compiled of were magnetised.

Alex realised he’d opened his mouth, breathing into the opening of Miles’. Alex pulled his bottom lip between mean teeth, staring at Miles. “I hate you.” He breathed, the boiling words floating up above to Miles. “I hate you more.” The other growled in return, replying the hard stare.

The next part was warped, muffled, and murky to the mind.

Not unlike the instant you know you’re going to fall; you sense it happening before it does - and once you’re down...it takes a moment to develop, to ink into realisation.

His arms were laced around Miles neck before he knew what he was doing, before he had time to refuse these driving impulses, he was pulling himself into the man’s chest - his enraged heart-beat attached to Miles’. The taller snarled down at the insect holding him tight, though his hands told a different tale; travelling shockling fast to the boy’s ass - as if biological instinct. Was Alex embracing or trying to strangle him? Was he about to head-butt him, or was this an honest to god snog coming on?

The seconds between when Alex had grabbed Miles and when he crashed their lips were non-existent, little time if any to consider how stupid what they were doing was. Miles tasted like anger and heat, Alex suddenly felt as if he’d been let on fire. This new kind of thirst was a virus - infecting all of the untouched parts of his desire. Alex felt the swell between his hips as Miles squeezed his ass-cheeks meanly, as if to test their firmness. The man’s mirrored appetite made Alex’s hold on him tighter, realising he wanted the other’s relent more than he thought.

Miles poured a throaty noise into his mouth, sending a drop of thick lust through Alex’s system, that’s when his hands moved to the lad’s hips. Locking into the curved crevices as he urged the Miles backwards rather forcefully, ending with the younger’s backside against the counter’s edge. The response was growled and groaned against the tongue in Miles’ mouth, his hands travelling upwards, holding Alex’s shoulder blades as he pulled him against his front with painful might. His legs gradually divorcing from each other, parting like boom-gates for Alex to press his deepest place to Miles’.

It was when their kiss broke - the need for air overruling arousal - that the keen clarity of reality flooded Alex' mechanical body. He was suddenly detaching from Miles. Eyes wide and mouth open as he realized what he’d done. Miles frowned at him, though when he understood he blinked with avoidance and frustration down to the floor as his cheeks reddened.

Without another word, Alex was rushing out of the kitchen, leaving his mistake behind.

 

3

Alex flew into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him in an anxious huff.

Suddenly the mere thought of being in this place made him nauseous, everything stank with the familiarity of separateness. What the fuck had he done? The room he now paced about like a category-less cyclone only fed the fire churning in his gut, the sensation like boiling acid. He breathed deeply, air only visiting his lungs briefly before vacating the premises with the avoidance Alex found himself feeling towards a certain Scouse.

His breathing coupled with the enraged fingers clutching his hair - as if supplicating discipline to a broken dog - made him shake with uncertain temperate, his body rejecting itself. He couldn’t take it anymore, he’d endured every ounce of this warped withdrawal. Alex realised he was tired. More so than he’d let himself believe. So starved for human contact he’d kissed Miles, _twice_ now. He’d been set alight - and without the proper response could end up burning for days.

He was done - done with this drought, done with his identity and done with shutting his eyes.

With his heart encasing solidified steel, his expression firm and unyielding, Alex snatched his jacket from his desk chair’s shoulders and forced the leather beast on - as if in revolt of the thing. All he needed now was a cab. He shoved his phone into his pocket, unlocking his bedroom door none too gently.

Alex was determined to bypass Miles should he pounce with his endless questions, keeping his head down and hands punched through pockets, Alex marched with a sense of rebellion in his step, filing towards the door intently. However, once Alex realised Miles was nowhere to be seen, kitchen lights off and air still, he decided he’d called a lift from inside - save himself from the brisk night air for a spell longer.

He pulled out the device and pressed the home-button, and then again...and again with less patience. When the screen remained blank he silently groaned to himself, keeping in his frustrated breath as the ungodly red-battery filled the screen, cancelling Alex’ plans entirely.

He sighed brokenly, placing the useless thing on the counter before once again gripping is hands to his hair meanly, pressing his elbows to the surface as he got a grip. When he resurfaced from his gritting and bittering, he eyeballed a litter of linked keys left atop the expanse.

Alex thought little of it as he started Miles’ car, easing off the clutch as he pulled into the silent street. Distancing himself from his codependent singleness.

His unkind grip to the steering-wheel and clenched jaw kept Alex from combusting, the windows up and heater on as he drove with full intention - certainty chemically bonded to a ruthless thrist. He needed this, so bad he was doubtless he would die without it.

 

Alex knocked with demanding compulsion as he glared at the door, he stood in the empty hallway for only a burning moment before the frame he stood in front of was opening - revealing to him his remedy.

Julian was pale like waxed moonlight and sheathed by boyish bangs that poured themselves. Alex was breathing with determined depth, it’d spiked the moment his sights set to Jules.

“Alex?” He croaked drowsily, he was a naive creature tonight, sleepy and freshly washed.

“W-what are you-” _lips_ and _teeth_ and _fingers_ laced in locks of thick hair was what sealed Julian’s tasty lips. Alex pressed his mouth to Jules’ as if a magnet finally finding its way home, a pairing designed by the cruelest of constellations.

Julian had gasped and flinched, as if expecting Alex to align his fist with the musician’s jaw. What an escalation Julian must be thinking, as Alex sucked and took everything he could get on his lips from that sharp bone that defined Julian’s chin. Julian breathed ruggedly and with an uneasy composure when Alex squeezed his hips, hungrily pushing him through the frame and kicking the door shut behind them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okey, a few things. UNo: yes, Alex was diagnosed with anxiety. 2, I went and saw the Elton John movie and it was forking amazing, I was in a 'combating homophobia' mood when I wrote the grocery-scene. tRoiS: say hELLo, Tumblr: yvettecigarette 
> 
> I'm sorry for typos, I'll come back one day and correct my grate grammar.


	8. Nocturnal Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people write a summary and stick to it...I’m not most people B)

1

The night was still existent when he got home…

The early hours around here were serenely still, though soon the noise and unmistakable musk of ants off to work would settle in.

Alex gazed through the windscreen, sitting as straight the driver’s seat allowed. Watching as the youngest breeze of morning cut through the hedges that guard his home, the birds pirouetting  through the wind - so anatomically petit, one might assume them butterflies.

Through the cloudy glass, coated in speckles of glistening rain drops, Alex saw the unclear outline of his street, obscene while unmistakable. The sound of falling rain ringing through his ears, thankfully drowning out his out metal chemical.

Alex was soaking up this present moment of complete aloneness.

He released a shaky breath, frowning down at his cold hands, stiff and clammy in his lap.

Held by these icy digits were the swiped keys, soon to be returned to the kitchen counter before Miles could think twice. Alex fiddled and wondered what the other four keys were for, then he studied the membership tag attached to the group, imagining Miles and his separate existence made Alex smile.

He wished he hadn’t borrowed the car - perhaps stolen was the word. A thief in the night, Alex thought pitifully.

He let out a hefty breath and crossed his arms - chilly and covered in goose-bumps - trying to guide his mind somewhere safe. Lock his conscience into a cubicle where it would stay until he could mend it again, his well-being had seen worse - stitched up so many times it was now more thread than flesh.

Just a moment longer in bitter reflection. Another minute of sour reminiscence.

And then he’d go inside.

 

_2_

_Alex’ body had jolted with a certain anticipation when the door slammed shut. Hands tight in Julian’s thick mop of hair, his lips lapping at the other’s, the furious kiss eliciting throaty, muffled moans of excitement from his ex. Unintelligible praises accompanied by mirrored neediness were the American’s part, violently clenching his hands into the back of Alex’ flimsy Oasis tee, as if the fabric personally offended him. Allowing Alex’ hand to, from where it cupped the back of his skull, push him into their kiss, allowing Alex to hold and tug at Jules in such a way - allowing him to take control._

_After an infinity of graceless travel, they’d made their way from the doorway to Julian’s bedroom. Musky, male, dim and unclean. The orange street-lamp outside the shadeless window lit the scene, spewing the most electric of oranges over Julian’s unmade bed. Alex wondered briefly how on earth Jules slept like this, however, the query was brushed aside once Alex threw the man clinging to him to the mattress behind them. Jules looked up at the Alex through wild, disheveled bangs and a rather beautiful glare. His eyes blown like an animals as he lay there, panting, held up solely by his elbows and desire. Alex bit his lip and breathed sharp and quick, watching his partner closely._

_He made the first move, as it appeared to be his part. He settled between Julians legs, the broad, denim demons begging for something to wrap around, hanging off mattress in askance._

_Alex’ outer-thighs were met by the jeaned inners of Julian’s, pressing his palms flat to the duvet either side of the man’s hips, feeling the heat he emitted like scent. Julian, still propped by the scaffolding of his elbows, pulled his legs up an increment higher, as if to encourage Alex or perhaps notify his lover, that he knew he was there._

_Julian should’ve punctured his lip with how he bullied the pink flesh between hungry teeth. Alex leaned in slowly, even further between the American’s legs and fast breathing. “Ask me…” Alex had whispered to him, faces close and angled accordingly. “Ask me wot I’m gonna do.” He breathed, completely comfortable in this dominance. Julian’s mouth hung as he breathed labourly through it, he swallowed and let off his shaky elbows, slowly sinking to the sheets and vulnerability as he looked up at Alex and wondered innocently: “what…” no, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. “What are you going to do, Alex?” He asked in a thin whisper, as if the question were glass. Jules blinked up at his conqueror, “what are you going to do to me?”_

_One side of Alex’ bitten lips curled, he liked Julian like his. Melted under him like butter, his eyes shone up at Alex in wonder, blatant admiration and want. But it wasn’t lighting his heart...not like he’d imagined. It did extinguish one unknown - what Julian wanting him again would look like._

_Regardless, with the electrocuted apricot of alley-light illuminating the young man’s skin - the young man beneath Alex, the young man begging with his hips - the moment was seemingly set in stone._

_In response to the original uttered question, Alex dug his fingers into the acute bumps of Julian’s hips. The man replied in gasp, his legs tightening around Alex’ own flanks as he let go a whimper. “K-kiss me, Alex, kiss me.” Julian begged softly, devoted arms locking behind the lad’s hanging neck. Julian knew not to greed or force, push or pull - he’d put in his request, and now the ball was in his lover’s court._

_Alex thought he would have melted into those words...the amount of times he’d laid awake in bed trying to remember what it had sounded like - Julian asking for him - imagine the warmth and shape his heart would take on. He felt the pull of physical desire urging him on...but an absence in emotional allure where he was so certain it’d be waiting for him._

_Pushing through the lack of clarity - the undeniable nothingness in his heart with how he now regarded Julian, Alex did as asked and lowered to unite his lips with Julian’s. They sunk into each other for a moment as Alex tried to lose himself in the kiss. But it was all wrong. He would spend  the entire evening convincing himself that this felt right, that he was indeed getting what he’d wanted for so long. But throughout the evening Alex’ presence was glassy and fractured, his mind constantly drifting through itself._

_This wasn’t normal. It was never lacking with Julian. What had changed? Plenty sure, but what was the specific reason for Alex’ absence? Something taken…or someone added?_

_Eventually their anticipation and clothes are behind them, skinned and bare and fleshy under the blood-shot citrus of street-light. Their positions are virgin to their relationship, whatever relation this fell under…_

_Alex kneels on the mattress, his knees pressed and chest tight as he breathed in sharp excerpts of air. His hands once more are full of Julians barbed hips, and around his are his partner’s strong thighs, fastened for dear-life as Alex thrusts into him._

_Eyes squeezed shut, Julian’s face is contoured in agonizing pleasure and his body - full and fit and sprayed in sweat, the creamy flesh bouncing with each calculated pump._

_“Ohh, hmm, Ah-Alex, y-yes, yes…” Julian gritted through his own world, his hands clutching the sheets above his head. “Right there - right, ohh…”_

_Alex was inside Julian, between his thighs and hugged by the painfully tight heat of him. The amount of times he hadn’t brought up the subject of topping...the amount of fantasies he’d conjured in his spare time…the fact that we was fucking someone may be the only thing arousing him, because who he was fucking made him uncerain. It’s was all uncertain now._

_His emotional vagueness, thankfully was not reflected in his hungry thrusts, filling Julian, inside deeper with each insatiable lunge. Another external element unaffected by Alex’ inner-indifference was Julian. He seemed to pay no attention to the clouds around Alex’ head, seeming perfectly content where he was - rooted to the mattress indefinitely. Moans and sharp cries seeping from his lips and thrumming pores._

_This was hot. Julian’s feet locked behind the small of Alex’ back, unbelievably hard cock bouncing obscenely below him. Alex got a hand on said member and began to stroke in time with his own pulse, perhaps in an attempt to understand why he himself wasn’t getting anywhere._

_To this new distraction of Alex’, Julian responded in sputtered strings of curses, moaning and as Alex could feel in the cock against his clasped, wet fingers - getting that much closer._

_Shit. If Alex didn’t come he was fucked. It wasn’t as if the situation wasn’t filling him with an aspiration to come, his body was truly responding with honest reply. He was content...but he wasn’t in pursuit of a climax so venomous, so traumatic, he’d spend the rest of his days walking it off._

_Was he selfish for wanting that? Had he any proof that kind of passion existed? The only time he’d felt even a whisper of such a taste was when...when - “Alex! I-I’m gonna, I’m gonna…” Blared the opera of Julian’s admission, yes he was close, he was stinging Alex’ hand with scalding heat._

_Now it was time. Alex pumped the slick cock in one hand, the other welded to Julian’s hip as he thrust after their climax, desperately scrambling for a feeling or image to fuel his own finish._

_He didn’t care what the fuck it was - and so, his brain did as ordered, recalling that which would make Alex spew his conculstion into Julian._

_...He didn’t piece it together at first, as he could feel his climax approaching the dirty fantasies began to sketch into his eyelids in flashes._

_First were the eyes, the hazel jets of vision that when set to Alex seemed to undress him._

_Then the smirk - no, the smile - thin-lipped and heart hoisting, the smile that could prompt an early spring._

_Those hands that blew his mind to confetti._

_His legs, endless in their simplicity, articulate and willowy._

_Fingers, hands - tight and sunken - nails biting into his arse against that bloody counter-_

_“Oh my g-gohh, yes - yes, come inside me Alex, c-cohh…”_

_His bell-like laugh, those guttural growls, those stupid jokes and spats...Alex’ chest pinched as his groin began pooling with heat._

_Maybe he shouldn’t have done it - but he needed to finish -_

_Just as Alex felt Julian on the brink of orgasim, he whispered to himself - only to himself, silently, breathlessly, disobediently;_

_“Miles…”_

_And with the name passing Alex’ lips, came the almost instant inner-announcement that he and the beating organ inside his chest were in trouble._

_Thick, white, loud, finished._

 

_“This didn’t happen.”_

_As Alex slipped back into his expelled items of clothing, his skin clingy with sweat, he began reeling back into reality. His reality._

_“You say that now.” Came Julian’s rough voice from where he lit up, the sheets pooled at his hips like a silk moat. He blew out a transparent blossom of smoke, watching Alex dress from where he still sat on the bed - possibly unable to walk just yet. The morning was creeping up on the two men, the harshness of the orange street-light had lessened as the sky began to moss over with a softer morning light._

_Alex pulled on his jacket - the last item of ejected attire - when he looked at Jules, narrowing his eyes to the comment made._

_“No,” He said, shaking his head - mostly to himself as if to double-check. “I…” he pushed out a breath equal in depth as it was to silence, “I don’t want to do this.” He stood in the space between Julian’s bed and doorway, his hands still trembling in his jacket’s front pockets. Alex could only just make out the expression on Julian’s face - the bedroom nocturnal and doomed. The message etched to his features was a compound, the main element was obvious bewilderment, but something else, something hurt._

_Alex sighed, staring down at the geometric rug he stood on. The shapes were, in this light, simply darks against darker darks, colourless angles and curves - not so easy on the unadjusted eye. Alex blinked  firmly back up at Julian who now just glared at him, he leaned across the bed to snub his cig out over an astray._

_“I’m sorry.” Was all Alex felt allowed to say as Jules frowned down at his beautiful hands, he looked up at Alex, nostrils flared when he muttered:_

_“You make no sense to me sometimes.” Pulling off the thin sheets, he crossed the room to his closet. Alex watched with a troubling blankness as the young man moved, his bare back and arse pale and luna-like. Alex sighed inwardly, quietly as he chewed the inside of his cheek miserably._

_“I think I’ll go…” Alex murmured as Julian coated himself in a gown of silky onyx, the fabric shimmery in the light as he shifted. Once Julian had taken another cig out of his cartin, the rolled device between lips and packet in hand, he muttered through the cigarette; “I don’t get you…” Alex watched him closely now, crossing his arms as if to affirm his attention._

_“You come here, knocking at my door like your life depends on it, fuck me into oblivion, and - and now...” He scowled at Alex like an abused animal, a stung look in his eyes as he sunk back to the mattress. Jules was looking over to where Alex stood, the smoke from his mouth coated his next words._

_“It isn’t fair.”_

_Alex looked down at his feet, his expressionless face unattached to how he truly felt. ‘It isn’t fair’, the phrase dug a cozy pit in his gut. It wasn’t fair. Julian was correct. It wasn’t fair that Alex had come here wanting something that didn’t belong to him. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t speak - couldn't give a fair reply to someone deserving of one. It wasn’t fair that he’d past a stop sign on the drive over, it wasn't fair that he’d kissed Miles or whispered his name as a means of orgasim._

_The list went on._

_Julian sighed, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I…” he breathed, abandoning yet another cigarette. “I know you hate me for the breakup.” It was more a whisper really, it’s a miracle Alex caught it, though when he did his brows undid and raised in admitted shock._

_The bedroom muted for a beat._

_“Hate...I don’t, Julian I don’t hate you.” He professed in an almost frustrated frequency, the words spoken as if to an intolerable child. Julian’s hung head lifted, his expression lost. Alex pursed his lips and without enough thought, came to sit on the mattress, not too close, but beside Julian._

_Alex stared hard at his fidgeting hands that barely rested in his lap, feeling Jules’ eyes on him as he released an aggravated breath._

_“I,” suddenly his sinuses became quite tight and his ears too. “I didn’t come ‘ere to say this, but I think I ‘ave to.” Alex now stood before Julian, who became solid and unimpressed. Both admittedly pissed with the other. Regardless, the man looked up expectantly at Alex, his robe loose around the pale flesh of his neck._

_“Julian.” Alex pierced Jules with his heartbroken, out-of-love regard. “You broke me.”_

_Julian’s mouth opened, but it closed again, whether out of respect or lack of verbal possession Alex did not know. He continued in that hurt tone, hating how unformed and delicate he sounded. “You broke me.” He repeated, more for himself than effect, “broke me in a way that made it impossible for me to fix myself.”_

_Alex looked down at the man he addressed, watching his matte, umber orbs turn glassy with recollection or perhaps a new-found realisation. And then those heavy lids were squeezed shut, he made an in-pained noise as Alex noted the fists clenched in his lap._

_“I - fuck, Alex, I’m sorry. I fucked up, I know - I know I did…” he now presented Alex with eyes begging for mercy, forgiveness, whatever would mean that he was Julian’s again. “But I - we, we can be together Al, you and me.” He nodded his head frantically, desperate to convince Alex and any other spirits present. Alex’ stomach was officially full, and his heart - closed for business._

_Julian stood now, which took Alex a second to agree with. He was breathing unevenly when he insisted, “Alex, it’ll go back to the way it was, we’ll go back to”- and that’s when Alex’ pacifist tendencies seemed to hand the wheel over to a less controlled sector - “the way it was?” He butted in shamelessly, standing his ground as he glared up to the creature above him. “Do you...” He had to gather himself so as not to explode, “Do you not see tha’ things are different now?” His tone was venomous, but Julian remained unbitten and persistent._

_“I - Alex, I miss you.” Ah those words again, Alex’ question had seemingly gone over his head, along with any hope for their future._

_“Do you, Julian?” Alex decided to challenge, eyes narrowed and crossed arms tightening where they locked over his chest. “Or do you maybe joost miss the idea of me?” He didn’t blink, he didn’t breathe. “Now that you can’t ‘ave me.”_

_All that sound, passionate argument and the sound of people falling out of love, only now to be met with silence. Almost silence. Their uneasy breathing sounded off, as well at the cogs undoubtedly turning in Julian’s head. Alex had said what he needed to say, he undid his arms and turned from the man. He was going to go home and sleep forever._

_However, just as Julian had left his field of vision, a painfully inelastic hand was grabbing Alex’ forearm. As if bitten - for the viciousness was that evident - he spun back around, staring at the fingered weapon sunken into his skin and then up at the man ordering the grip._

_“Alex. We’re supposed to be together.” He’d told him firmly, no room for discussion or anything but alarm. Julian had never treated Alex quite like this - he didn’t understand it, nor did he like it._

_He shook his arm free in one jerk, pinning him with a cold glare, “don’t call me, Julian.”_

_And with that, he swiped his phone and Miles’ keys from the dresser, making for the door - afraid to look behind him as if a child climbing the stairs at night. Closing the door behind him, wishing he could lock it from the outside._

 

_It was like reaching the bad ending of a good book._

 

_3_

Miles’ car, camouflaged by condensation, hiccuped it’s lights as Alex pointed the keys, locking the misty beast before crossing the puddled street. As the smell of rainy petrichor was replaced by the snuggly scent of his home, Alex toed off his soggy Vans, his shirt and jeans also soaked, damply glued to him. Alex sauntered through his house not unlike a drenched, exhausted, demon. He found no sign of the scouser, safe for the few pieces of him here and there - his laptop that sat on the coffee table, his hoodie that hung over the sofa, and the cold dinner sitting on the stove. He looked over at the pot of discarded supper, his body shivering when he recalled what had distracted Miles from his cooking - though the rain, he decided, was to blame for his tremor.

He placed  Miles’ car keys back to their spot - between the fruit bowl and edge of the counter, and made his way to his bedroom.

As Alex passed Miles’ door he was almost tempted to knock, though the urge was quickly shot down by his better judgement. There was no light from under the door, so he supposed Miles had gone to sleep, or perhaps was out...which would mean he knew about Alex’ minor theft.

He swallowed thickly and turned back in the direction of his room, shivering and shaky, a cocktail of emotions stirring inside. He would need a lifetime of breathing space to process this evening - from the incident with Miles, to that forgien look of insistence in Julian’s deny-ridden eyes.

Alex closed his door softly and went straight to the hamper that sat by his desk, peeling off his wet layers, Alex dropped the balls of damp fabric into the basket. Moving as naked as the day he was born towards the closet, his body stiff and trembling as he searched quickly. He stepped into a pair of winter tracksuits and on came the warmest of turtlenecks, he ran his fingers through his damp hair, sighing and dragging himself to bed. Once Alex hit the mattress, he flipped over to his back, staring up at his ceiling that was white and miserable and everywhere. As he tried to set his mind straight - on the path towards eventual sleep - his head persisted in its efforts to prevent this. Flicking to amplified images of that evening, the moments he recalled stinging him. Alex soon realised he wouldn’t be sleeping.

His body felt both empty and polluted, he groaned and sat up, looking over at his shaded window. The rows of blinds letting a little light through, though not nearly enough. Alex stood, his body’s weight indicating that he was ready for bed, and moved over to his desk below the window. He took a seat, leaning over to fick the lamp on, and contemplated how he’d distract himself from the feeling threatening to suffocate him. He let out a shaky breath, slouching forward so that elbows sunk to knees and hands held his cold face. His breathing was uneven and stammered, he squeezed his eyes shut and refused to open them ever again. Fuck.

His body lightened and eyes clouded from behind their lids, what did one do when the world was going off around them? Suppose it didn’t matter. What did _Alex_ do when the world was spewing garbage at him?

His head lifted, and above it shone a light bulb.

He stood from his seat and warmly regarded the record player that sat on the desk. He sighed, smiling as he leaned over to flick in on.

As he slid the black disked friend out of it’s cover, placing it over the slate, lifting the needle, he took his seat once more.

As the homesickenning crackle sank into his veins - somehow audible over the light rain - Alex felt his eyes welling up. Great, he thought cruelly towards his sorrow. He sent the tears away with swift fingers, sniffling hard as he pulled his knees to his chest.

Alex turned his face so that his check rested atop his huddled knees, he shut his eyes and let Cohen’s tales of woe lull him, if not to sleep that to moderate sanity.

‘ _...live in a house that is haunted...by the ghost...of you and me-’_

 

Alex’ head shot up to the knock at his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Take me internally, forever yours, nocturnal me.’ - Echo And The Bunnymen + Title


	9. what time is it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desire is a sylph figured creature...who changes her mind. 
> 
> \- Prefab Sprout, Desire As

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some people have mentioned missing episode 8, I’m not sure what happened there, but just double check you’ve seen the last chapter cause dam spoilers and shit

1

“Miles?” Alex called out, sounding painfully desperate, almost wounded - like he’d only been waiting for the Scouse to come and find him. He wished he’d sounded less transparent, though knew his secrets were safe where he held them. 

Alex’ knees were still glued to his chest, and against them he could feel his own pulse - thrumming violently against his ribs - surely bruising the area. His damp, curl reduced, hair hung over his face as he held his breath, waiting to see if the utterance of his name had been mere imagination.

He sat perfectly still as his bedroom door began opening, and through the frame came the unmistakable arrangement of lengthy limbs and wonderfully drowning company. Miles had a cautious expression and with it a hesitant smile lacing his thin lips, “joost wanted to make sure you were okay.”

They hadn’t spoken, or seen one another since their mouths were attached to the others.

Alex stared rather dumbly at the man, wondering if he hadn’t hit his head. But he seemed perfectly sound of mind, except perhaps his facial edge in obvious fatigue. Up his legs - Alex thoughtlessly surveyed - clung loose joggers with contrasting stripes down the sides. Accompanying these, suspended along those strong, slightly tensed shoulders, were the tease of a light, loose shirt that whispered to Alex the lad’s collarbone. The warm lamp illuminating Alex’ bedroom blew a troublingly ethereal blush over the Northerner, as if a peach vision - sneaking in to steal him. Coexisting with the shadows came the ringing of melting clouds, the gift of rainfall adding to the ambience of a suddenly devine bedroom. The sight of him clogged Alex’ heart, his eyes, his pores - shaded skin like terra-cotta, and opposing shone his exacting eyes and mahogany head of bed-ruffled hair. 

Alex gently sent the cluster of intrusive thought away, smiling softly up at the man filling his doorway. Without a word, placing his hand on the cushion-less chair across from him - as if to notify Miles of its existence - Alex invited him to take the plush, upholstered seat. 

Miles had a brief second of process, as if a creature working his head was deciding if it were a trap. This contemplation however, is short lived as the lanky visitor moves across the space to occupy the offered place. The seat is a little close, though it'd be rather odd to do anything about it now. The proximity is to blame for their moment of muteness, though Cohen lent a hand in ambience where verbs were lacked. 

“I…” Alex squeaks, unsure how he’d let the word slip out, and in such a pathetic tone. Miles, however, seemed to have  jumped on it - eyes fastened to the conversationally inept boy across from him. Alex swallowed tightly and looked down at his toes, bare and cold, huddled as his knees press into his torso. Clearing his throat, Alex murmured, “I’m sorrey…’bout dinner.”

Miles chuckled lightly, looking at his hands, “it weren’t yer fault.” Alex looked at him with a playfully self-deprecating smirk, “kinda were.” He insisted lightly, feeling that this apology was the least he could do for the unspoken treachery riddled in this evening. Miles shook his head, fondly smiling at it, and then decided; “think we both got a bit...heated.” Alex wished he’d used a different word, one less agonizingly accurate. Heated, yes... heated hands and heated tongues, boiling bones like magnets - launched on an unstoppable mission to grind, to rut and taste and - or perhaps, Alex wondered, had he implied it on purpose? If so...well he didn’t know what.

“Yes, that - that’s, you’re right.” He mumbled unequally, repelled by his empty palette. 

Miles smiled kindly, regarding the turning vinyl, “Joost a pair ‘o hot heads.” He hummed, pulling one knee to his chest, holding it there with his endless arms. To the harmless, almost playful statement, Alex snickered, nodding as the record sizzled out. The room grew expectantly silent, and Alex almost felt obligated to fill up the silence with empty banter. He could feel Miles’ eyes on him as stood, he flipped the record, encouraging the B-side to have no fear - whilst telling himself the same. As the sleep-deprived creature sat back down with a contented sigh - the soothing, rain complementing crackling commencing once more - Miles asked with detectable reluctance, “did you go out?” 

He was sporting indented under eyes, dark and sunken. Alex watched him like a fascinated child as he brushed a strand of his unkempt hair back, “joost that I heard the front door…” he then tacked on, as if the question - his own question - had made him quite uncomfortable. Miles’ eyes attached to his hands once more, Alex was finding it harder and harder to predict him.

He’d made up his mind before the lie passed his lips, “I, er - went for a walk.” Suddenly dishonesty towards Miles didn’t come so easily, the fib felt almost traitor-like on the tongue, especially after the one being lied to had been so...careful with Alex.

“In the rain?” Miles asked skeptically, turning his head to the side as he looked at Alex. He had a smile that accompanied his narrowed eyes, for a moment Alex took that smile out of context and simply basked in this fluke of attention. Though really, he shrugged and bit the inside of his cheek awkwardly. Miles prodded no further, which lead Alex to think that Miles believed him, and in turn, also knew nothing of the car-pinch. The cheater - for that was how he felt in this moment - was relieved Miles let it go - further interrogation and he would’ve surely cracked. 

However, part of him almost wanted exposure. Perhaps it was that he knew he’d done wrong -  the child in him half-expecting punishment, or maybe it was that dishonestly - in this capacity - didn’t agree with Alex’ system. Miles, with his cruelty and repulsiveness and abstract soul - was not Alex’ boyfriend. This was a fact - a stubborn one - that refused to sink in, at least on a level of conscience. And yet - knowing he had no intimate loyalty to the Scouse - came the familiar thorned hands of guilt, fastening around Alex’ neck almost habitually. This, not unlike the rest of his feelings around Milles, was something he couldn’t understand.

Miles must have spotted a fraction of the warfare in the boy’s eyes, “you sure? You know - yer okay?” Alex supposed he wasn’t the only one in the house riddled with inner-turbulence, but the thought alone of Miles’ thoughts on him exhausted Alex. 

He’d had a packeted version of truth prepared as response, an ‘of course’ ready to be sent out, some easy inauthentic assurance. But as if the phrase prepared had been fished out of his mouth, Alex found himself uncharacteristically without answer.

It meant a moment of music-occupied contemplation, not only deciding what he’d say, but if what he did say would be truthful. Amongst this gap was allowed almost a full verse of _Lover, Lover, Lover_ to fill the air between them, the rattle and engulf of melody in low volume - rainfall swallowing the lyrics. 

Alex stared tired-eyedly, at the player, the buffer of sorts, blinking heavy lids. “I don’t think I’m good at them,” he murmured, watching the shadowed record spin fluidly. “Breakups, I mean…” 

In reaction, Miles didn’t smile - for he knew Alex, despite his breezy tone, hadn’t meant it lightly. However, the lad’s brows were knitted in a sudden deeper thought - perhaps a depth he hadn’t been prepared for. 

Alex could feel it all happening behind his averted head - the decoding of him. “Why do you say that?” Miles asked carefully, though with honest query.

Alex’ attention along with his head, snapped back at Miles - the man had crossed one leg over the other and now rested his evidently heavy skull in his hand, elbow balancing on table - when Alex asked incredulously, “are you serious?” 

Piercing Miles with sarcastically serious eyes, one corner of his mouth curling as he used his hands to gesture all around them - their entire situation. 

When Miles caught on he chuckled truthfully, nodding. He then asked with a sweetening dose of jest, “this you breaking up with me, Turner?” He was giggling lightly, looking at Alex with genuine enjoyment. In return, the boy laughed in a tired croak and shook his head. 

He watched Miles’ smile - making sure it stayed for as long as possible. He shook his head fondly, “you know who I-” stopping himself - the slip up rippling through his chest - he sighed, “you know wot I mean…” 

Miles nodded his head as he held it, “aye.” He said openly, along with the fact that Miles would let him go now - he would unfasten Alex from the conversation that could quite possibly lead to oversharing  - his eyes, Alex noticed were beginning to hood. He was obviously tired, and could not, in this moment, relate to Alex’ insomniac issue. The thought of the comatose man across from Alex fighting to stay awake - for him - warmed the boy.

“It’s funny…” Miles hummed, his voice matching the honey-like sonancy of Leonard’s. 

“What is?” Alex asked smilingly, the weight of his own eyelids making the world melt into a Salvadore Dali-like warp. Miles slowly sat up, stretching his clenched fists up in a hefty yawn, which Alex caught himself smiling softly at. Miles shook his head, and waved the thought away, “nothing,” he decided, “it’s nothing.” But Alex didn’t agree, even with his ignorance to the concealed topic. “No, tell me.” He said, and found that he himself was yawning - perhaps by influence. Miles sighed deeply, chuckling as he crossed his arms over the desk, lowering his head to rest over them, ear against his pillow-acting limbs. Alex held onto this train of thought, the one Miles was actually willing to continue for him. Alex, through his growing fatigue, mirrored Miles’ position. They were both resting there noggins over the table when Miles said, “it’s joost…” their repsoing heads, turned and facing the other. Alex looked into Miles’ eyes completely, and with it felt the complete scold of eye contact, the sting that he now welcomed. “You…” Miles continued, looking back at Alex through hooded eyes. “With yer broken heart...an’ me, with me lonely one.” Those words, Alex knew to be hard ones, the kind of syllables that could demolish buildings. But he was drained, this conversation - as delicate as it had begun - had weakened him, or rather, acted as a lullaby. An eccentric one at that.

Miles eyes had shut, Alex studied those closed lenses, the hidden hazel covered by dark lashes. His breath was long and it was with sonorous ease when he added, “you’d think we’d get on a bit better.” Perhaps if Alex weren’t on the verge of sleep, perhaps if  he weren’t so heart-fractured, perhaps if he didn’t feel like a million different people and no-one at once…

Alex hummed, and before he knew it, his own heavy eyelids that flitted shut. 

 

2

The couple of days between that evening and their radio interview passed with an easy speed.

Alex had awoken the day after his ‘affair’ - for what other word could be implied? - to the hour of midday. His neck was solid and ached as he sat up, Alex yawned heavily - fists in the air and eyes clenched. As he rubbed his rested eyes, he regarded the empty seat across from him. It pulled at his heart - that absence - like he’d never see him again. That was when the crackle and scent of bacon entered Alex’ awareness, he bit his cheeks from smiling as he leaned other his desk, turning off his exhausted record-player. 

 

“I could seriously get used to this.” Alex mused jokingly as he entered the kitchen, going straight for the coffee machine. Miles had jerked in scare, his eyes finding the back of Alex as the boy fixed his beverage. All he did was release a breath and chuckle, using the tongs to flip the rashes.

 “Sunny-side up, please.” Alex chimed over his shoulder, watching Miles out the corner of his eye as the coffee-maker growled. “You got it.” Miles replied in a morning voice of his own, leaning over to reach into Alex’ fridge for the carton. Alex smirked down with amusement at Miles’ bare feet, skidding back and forth as he not only kept an eye on breakfast, but also searched for the eggs. 

“We got eggs, hey?” He asked, frowning as he rummaged through the refrigerator shelves. Alex turned of his machine, adding his sugar before coming over to where Miles was struggling. It was then - as Alex stood next to Miles, the cool air against them - that he realised something monumental. 

His heart was racing. 

“I swear they’re ‘ere.” Miles grunted, the sound of bacon screaming snapping his attention in half. “Shit -” He hissed, flying over to the stove to calm the fatty spitting down. Alex found himself watching with a smirk as the lad cringed hatefully down at the hissy pan, expertly dodging the spitting oil. Alex’ cheeks heated when he realised he was regarding Miles with something he didn’t understand. Something he didn’t realise was still on the table for him in this life.

But no, he was simply tired. Tired and low, selfishly trying to find ports to relieve his sorrow.

Feircely shaking the entire topic off, he found the eggs after a brief search, they were in the bottom draw, naturally.

“The fook? I swear I looked there!” Miles exclaimed, scoffing as he took the long box from Alex’ grasp. The boy shook his head and rolled his eyes, returning to his coffee brewing. 

 

3

“Wait, wot’s an otp?” Alex frowned as he read the screen, shovelling a fork-full of brekkie into his mouth. “It’s like, one true pair, or summat, like as in…” Miles said as he took a sip of his tea, “we’re their one true - I dono, it’s...it’s a good thing.” He said, waving the question away, Alex nodded as he watched him scroll down the article they were reading over their meal. So far, Alex and Miles have been painted as the issue of the century. 

“Oh, look at the one, my hair, ugh…” Alex muttered, pointing at one of the photos. They were at some bar, and were beyond wasted, some while back there, when they weren’t on breakfast-terms. 

“You? Look at _me_ , I’m looking at you like yer a meal, how do they always manage to snatch the worst fookin’ angles?” Miles scoffed as he downed a bite of toast, Alex laughed at that, nodding as he scrolled to the last photo - and this was the one that they completely lost it with.

Miles clicked on it to zoom, and their reaction was gloriously simultaneous, while hilariously individual.

Alex had made the unfortunate choice of taking a sip of his flat-white, which had instantly ended up sprayed across Miles’ laptop screen. The transparent brown dropping in little umber beads down the image, but Alex didn’t have a moment to apologise between the bark-like laugh he and Miles seemed to be sharing. The cackling resulted in red faces and teary eyes in between, “look at your _face_!” And, “you look like yer joost ‘bout ready to fookin’ marry me!”

Because honestly, the snapshot they were hysterically laughing at, _was_ freakishly intimate. 

Alex had that stupid, puppy-love look shining in those doey eyes that were set to Miles, who, for his part was smiling back at him like a love-struck dork.

Alex was still laughing like that one idiot in class who couldn’t end the goof, catching his breath as he used a paper towel to wipe the screen clean. Miles sighed loudly, and wiped his damp eyes. “I’m gonna remember that for the dark days.” He panted through his broken, giggly breath, collecting his and Alex’ plates as he moved towards the sink. 

Alex, surprised he didn’t pee his pants hummed in agreement, closing the tab, glad he hadn’t broken the thing. 

“Though,” Miles giggled, still in that giddy state as he wiped his hands on a cloth. “S’posse we’ll need to get used to all tha’, wot with tha’ interview comin’ up.” 

Alex closed Miles’  lap top, and looked over at him nervously. He brought his nails to his teeth and suddenly realised how necessary therapy had become for him. 

“Miles?” He murmured, deciding it was fine - if not better - if Miles hadn’t heard him. The Scouse turned to face him from where he was packing cleaned dishes away, Alex briefly wondered when Miles had become so well acquainted with the space. But it didn’t bother him, if anything it was a relief. 

With Miles’ attention fastened to him, Alex opened his mouth to speak, but was closing it soon after. He sighed quietly and peered down at his feet that hung off the stool, “wot if I can’t…” he scrunched his nose and flayed his hands in a word-searching manner. “Wot if…” 

Miles smiled softly, his brows bending slightoy as he set the plate he was holding down. “Yer nervous? ‘Bout the interview?” He prodded carefully, moving over so that he stood opposite Alex, the polished marble between them. 

Alex sighed tiredly, “yeah.” Was all he could think to say, he sunk his fingers into his scalp, lowering his head. 

“I can - I can do the talking...if you want?”

Alex smiled up at Miles through his hands that held his face, “s’not joost the talking…” Miles nodded understandingly and sighed, “we don’t ‘ave to do this, you know? It’s really not a big deal.” Miles leaned over the counter as he looked down at Alex’ sunken head, he smiled sadly at the tornado in the boy’s mind, “hm?” He said, wondering if Alex had heard him.

He had. Beneath that buried head spun the Alex’ inner-turmoil, as the worry made itself at home, Alex was thinking hard about where he was. It seemed that the upcoming interview wasn’t the only issue parading inside his conscience, wiring him with anxiousness. 

Alex was filled with uncertainty for his and Miles’ future. 

He had realised he’d need to reassess where they stood the moment he’d left Julian’s place. Alex - regardless of how anticlimactic the passion had been - had gotten what he had wanted. Julian had held him and kissed him, begged for Alex. What did this make of Miles’ use? Now that Julian wanted him - Alex’ own recoil aside for a moment - Miles’ purpose had expired...hadn’t it? The boy realised that aside from needing to keep up his end of their bargain, Alex didn’t want this to end. Whatever this was. A friendship? A really fucked up flatmate scenario? He sighed, “thank you.” Lifting his head to smile appreciatively at the lad, “I’ll be right.” 

Miles nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he smiled reassuringly at Alex. The boy appreciated that it was left at that, the lad rotated and resumed his dish relocating, perhaps within his own struggle to grasp syllable. 

 

Alex watched him tidy for a moment, taking the sight of Miles Kane's’ meticulous organization out of context. And it was _that_ feeling, flooding through with such mental wanderings, that prompted his decision to stick with the Scouse. Until he could understand where these feelings where coming from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people have asked for a slow burn and some people are like 'get on with it' so I'm trying to manage both while sticking to the plot. Who even knows! Thank you so fucking much for all of the support. Tumblr: @yvettecigarette so we can properly discuss Alex' bum.


	10. if it ain’t broke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight I’m uploading this because I need it read! Please tell me what you think x

1

The thing about bullshitting - Alex was beginning to discover - was that the smile of a bullshitter was his best friend.

The one Alex had fashioned out of his trepidation and subjective chaos had been sewn into his lips for the better part of this unending interview.

The entire experience was devouring Alex, swallowing him like a completely necessary medicine, a syrupy dose of obligation. Accommodating this assembled smile was the rest of Alex’ revved system; his posture was uncharacteristically vertical, directed by said thoracic-vertebrae bounced the man’s leg nervously - a habit he had yet to shake.

The studio was of sandalwood in essence - the olfactory response calming a small pocket of him, the smell afforded Alex an ease he was in desperate need of. Another prominent factor to Alex’ displacement was the arm linked with his. As his eyes climbed the honey toned skin - the invitingly soft sight of light flesh, the fine hairs that dusted his dainty forearms - he was soon peering directly up at the torso connected to this wonderous limb.

Miles was wearing some ridiculous ‘flamboyantly masculine’ button up, the short sleeves expressing the lad’s toned arms -  that of which Alex conuniously found himself deciphering. Along with this floral piece were those boa constrictor jeans, good god how Alex had to distract himself from that heart-racing vision, thank christ the Scouser had sat down.

The young interviewer perched on the sofa across from Alex, Miles and their domestic fiction beamed at them, his thick lense-hidden eyes crinkled with enjoyment, his bell-like laugh filled the air whenever Miles opened his mouth - the sound only sickening Alex’ self worth.

“-isn’t tha’ right, Al?” Chimed the end of a sentence Alex had missed, however, what he hadn’t missed was Miles’ side rubbing up against his, as if to offer conversational inclusion. Alex breathed out a smiled, shuddering breath as he nodded obliviously. He decided to tune-in now, when he casually checked the analog across the space, he concluded this would be over soon.

“-exellent.” Said the interviewer, fuck - right over his head. He mentally shook his own distraction away and sat up, leaning into attention and behaviour. “So, we’re wrapping up soon, but I did ‘ave a last question for the two of ye.” The young interrogator asserted with a giggle near the end, which of course made Miles giggle in chemical reaction.

The Scouse had sold their duo as if were his job. Alex could never repay him for the gift of his chatter-box-edness. The way Miles floated through exchanges like the most social of butterflies, while concurrently managing care in his delivery - his beautiful attention to the things he spoke of. The chemical reaction _Alex_ would then fall into like a comfy curse  - the feeling as routine as breathing.

“An’ wot might tha’ be?” Miles chuckled to the original warning of incoming query, Alex reeled himself in and paid attention like a good human. “Well, I wondered wot yer favourite thing about the other was?” Alex wasn’t certain why, but he was laughing with Miles in reaction to this question. Perhaps it was the they - and no one else alive - could understand the irony of the inquiry; the fact was that the original purpose for their union had been not for affection, or character enjoyment - as the interviewer and world believed - but instead personal gain.

Or perhaps Alex was laughing simply because Miles was, and vice versa.

“Shall I go first, love?” Miles grinned down at Alex, the boy in question calmed his surges of giggles and sighed, “I think you better.” Miles looked off to an indirect point and narrowed his eyes, deep in thought as he hummed his searching mind. To the lad’s lack of expression, Alex shoved him in the hip, playfully accusing: “excuse _me_.” Scolding him laughingly, which in apology, Miles had rocked into him smilingly. God this was odd.

The seconds between this bizarre gesture of companionship and Miles’ official answer was plenty of time for Alex to reach his own decision. He  looked up at the man to be assessed, studying not only Miles’ anatomy but searching his own mind’s files - his history with Kane.

Let’s see, Alex didn’t completely despise the guy’s cooking. There - done.

However, the boy’s conclusion is suddenly deflated - popped and shriveled and lifeless - it’s obvious he’s arrived at the wrong theorem the moment Miles’ petel-like skin caresses him, the movement of platonic affectation tempts Alex to moan. He gritted his teeth and swallowed his indecision.

“Eyes. Easy.” Miles bragged, nudging Alex sweetly - but it only made the unreached point that much more frustrating. The interviewer giggled and ‘aw’ed and jesus-fuck when would this end?

Alex squirmed in the couch the two sat on as the host eyed him, “an’ ‘ow about you Alex?” It was obvious that the man questioning him was excited to be on a first name-basis with the musician, he smiled at that, feeling just a little lighter.

Alex looked up at Miles and denied a smirk - he did that to him apparently - the boy pursed his lips and looked back to the interviewer.

“P-patience…” He stuttered, instantly shocked and enraged with his loose lips. He visibly recoiled - blinking away, a pretty pink shading his cheeks - he felt like a jellyfish next to Miles sometimes. And even this didn’t seem like a con to him.

“I love that.” The lad across from the two musicians grinned, softly shaking his head as if in disbelief. Alex blew out a nervous breath of relief and smiled back, when he turned back to Miles the man’s eyes were already on him. He wasn’t smiling - at least not in that normal, social etiquette way - this curl of lip was so soft that it almost did harm. It didn’t reach his eyes, but Alex found that this was what made it hit him so hard. He’d never looked at him like _that_ before.

 

Back within the safety of Miles’ car, Alex had his earphones in. Leaning against the window like a brooding teen as he stared out the misty glass - the vivid wash of trees and buildings wiped by speed. He could feel Miles’ eyes on him, and he knew what it was about.

Alex was busy pouring his consciousness into Something For Kate when the ding of an incoming text silenced Monsters, he lifted the device and absent-mindedly pressed the notification banner. With the music still engulfing his attention, Alex’ heart unfastened when he identified the contact hovering below his eyes.

_‘We need to talk. I need to see you.’_

Alex visibly shuddered, but he exhaled hard and tucked the phone back into his pocket - refusing to play that game.

The next time his tunes were disrupted was when Miles’ screw-driver like fingers were jabing him in the arm, he hissed and pulled one ear-phone out sourly. “Wot?” He said annoyedly, rubbing where he’d been poked. “Sorrey... I called yer name twice…” Miles mumbled rather meekly as he made a left-hand turn, Alex didn’t respond to this but pulled out his other earphone.

He stared bitterly down at his hands, he hated this - the way Julian could reach him from so far. Alex looked at Miles with a dropped expression, watching his eyes on the road, “you think we - I...did okay back there?” He asked in a beaten tone, taking in the shape of the lad’s sharp jaw.

Miles eyes flicked to Alex as if he’d suggested the earth were flat. “‘ _Course_ you did.” He told him, offering him a smile more genuine than Alex could handle. He nodded and sighed, staring at the speechless radio resentfully. “Fookin’ Oscar worthy…” he muttered, the once secured tourniquet around his misery loosening like ribbon.

Miles didn’t let it slip away - “Wot?” He pressed, skeptically frowning at the boy. Alex turned away from his gaze, resuming is fauvist window watching. “Nuffin’.” He huffed quietly as he watched the passing traffic, the slow paced herd of aluminium-encased animals.

“Tell me.” Miles renewed, no annoyance in it, but clear concern. That was when Alex admitted to himself that what he’d said to the interviewer’s question was correct. But that truth only stung him.

Alex glared at the gear-stick as if it’d murdered his family, though it was more that he was beginning to space away.

“He texted me.” Alex muttered under his breath, oddly unsurprised by the way Miles’ had unlocked him so effortlessly. “Who did?” The lad driving asked, not unlike a parent tuning into his child’s blues.

“ _Him_.” Alex verified lowly, bringing his thumb-nail to his teeth. He heard Miles release a heavy breath, “oh.” He breathed, Alex saw his jaw tick and fingers clench over the wheel. He could tell Miles was covering his true reaction, which only sent him on a quest to guess what he might truly be thinking. Was he annoyed Alex would bother him with such rubbish? Was he...onto him?

Those thorned hands of guilt caressed Alex once more - anxiety panging through his skeleton as he hid well. He just wanted Miles to know - to have it behind them so as to avoid ever talking about it.

“He wants you back.” Miles dead-panned in a monotone, Alex nodded sullenly, “yup.”

“Are you...I mean…” Miles cleared his throat, “are you - are you gonna-” Alex butted in with his assurance, “no.” Was his plain response, crossing his arms. He realised what he had said was true - even if Alex had already crossed the line and indulged in Casablancas. His desire for Jules was at last, burning out.

Miles nodded and remained quiet for the rest of the journey home.

 

2

It’d been a couple days since the interview.

The experience, along with Julian’s nasty surprise of a text had left Alex emotionally capsized, and in turn - the entire energy at home had been rather off. To the calls Alex was more than occasionally receiving from Jules, he ignored them, unable to understand why he felt he couldn’t block his number yet.

Miles, to Alex’ relief, had been sensitive to where he was at, even if the lad didn’t know Alex’ specific mental whereabouts. He’d allowed Alex exactly what he’d needed with his turmoil - to be left to himself.

The reason for this proximity shift being that, within this time of separateness, Alex had come to terms with - after a myriad of denial - something that had developed within him.

More accurately, a new feature that had - without Alex’ consent - installed itself within his affections.

This event was new, but not foreign. It was light and euphoric and abstract, and in the middle was Miles.

His confusion surrounding the issue was vast and scattered, there boiled portions of Alex that were bothered by the manifestation. These opposing parts of him argued that this affection - that he supposed it was - meant a surrender of control. Because, really, it did. He wasn’t willing to be feeling this again so soon - he was still licking his wounds from the last guy.

But the remainder of him, to Alex’ astoundment, was actually basking in the sweet stir inside him.

He hadn’t felt a crush - christ, could he call it that? - in such a length of time that it felt almost virgin, as if he’d just snorted all of the bliss he’d ever need.

So, with this compound of delight, dred, and absurd desire, Alex was a neutral entity. He decided it was fine - if not, healthy - to acknowledge these feelings transpiring within him, he didn’t want to be the kind of person who never admitted anything to himself. However, he would of course _never,_ fucking _ever_ act on this obviously temporary attraction.

He crossed one jittery leg over the other and locked is hands in his lap, his body felt infected with nerves, like he’d eat something off all his life.

His inner anguish coiled into a tight chord within his gut, lassoing a special kind of anxious agony around his ribs like tinsel around the tree.

The waiting room wasn’t what he’d expected in the least, perhaps he’d let the commercial versions of therapy dilute is assumptions. The space was bright and breathed.

“Alex?” He lifted his head to spot the man addressing him. He wore a rather loose, breathable suit with a pattern on his tie that Alex needed to take and study. The gentleman welcomed him with a warm smile that convinced him he was safe here, and that making a run for it wasn’t smart.

Once Alex had taken a seat - not in one of those long chaise couches in the films, but on a regular sofa - the gentlemen introduced himself as ‘Jarvis’. Alex quite enjoyed the concept of a first name basis, it loosened his clinched nerves and gave him a brief glimpse into how this was going to go. Jarvis’ office was rather small, no windows but bright walls far more welcoming than that of most doctor’s offices. There was a small desk off to a corner near the door, a dainty wire-like shelf with books and a few plants, and in the center was where the two men spoke.

Between them was a low table, on it, off to one corner laid a few help-line brochures, a few of the doctor’s closed notebooks and closer to Alex sat a little basket of gadgets. As Jarvis flicked through a layered clipboard of paper, Alex inspected this basket of goodies.

He found a stress-ball, a fidget cube defined by it’s buttons and levers, a plastic ball within a net that when squeezed, grew bubble-like bumps. His personal favourite however, was a small rectangle encasing a surface of pointed plastic. Alex pressed his hand against the prickled surface and checked the other side, finding the impression of his palm and fingers that had been pushed through.

“Freakishly enjoyable, isn’t it?” Said the man across from Alex, he’d put on a pair of glasses that suited him well.

“‘Ad one as a kid.” Alex told him, placing it back with the rest. Jarvis smiled at this, taking a sip from a floral cup of coffee. “It helps,” he said, leaning forward to place the cup down. “To fidget, when talking about...uncomfortable subjects, it helps to redirect your attention when you need to.” Alex nodded, appreciating the absolute lack of patronization. The way the lad spoke, as if he and Alex were simply two people about to fix something unbroken, as if the situation were as mundane as weather. He couldn’t word it, but he felt capable of interaction with this stranger in a way he hadn’t expected - third party input, it seemed, might work well for him.

About half an hour in - that being half of the session gone - Alex had, after an impressive amount of time not saying the wrong thing, said the wrong thing.

“Does that bother you?'' Jarvis had asked like a true shrink, looking at Alex undividedly.

“I…” the taste of oversharing making him want to choke, how had he let such a thing slip out? Alex had gotten comfortable here, so much so that he’d forgotten himself.

“Some days more than others.” He mumbled, resenting himself for what he’d done in initiating this new direction.

“And on these days, what’s going through your head, Alex?” Jarvis’ tone was anything but intrusive, Alex wondered if that was apart of the profession - acquiring that tone.

He released a quiet breath, a heavy one he’d held too long. He bit his cheek and stared down to the table in front, studying the urban, modern wooden design to it. He’d done so well in avoiding the prospect  of actually discussing his issues, it was so obvious to Alex that he couldn’t tell the full truth to Jarvis, no matter how snappy his tie was. He _had_ to conceal the true cause for his anxiety, fuck doctor-patient confedentiality. He hadn’t mentioned Julian, certainly not Miles. They’d discussed only his sleep and chest problems - that he could handle - but _this_?

He pushed another dangerously long held breath out, regarding the poofy, cloud-like carpet under his doc martens. “I...I dono.” Well, it was the truth, surely that counted for something. “I...guilt, I guess.” He uttered, linking his fingers uncomfortably. Alex thought about the sentiment that had launched this turn-off from the subjects he could handle. He had said: ‘ _I think I’ve gotten too good at lyin’._ ’ He’d _laughed_ it...at least he thought he had. God, why did everything mean something in therapy?

Alex’ eyes flicked up to his therapist, as if to seek validation or know if what he’d said was acceptable. Jarvis was nodding, watching him simply. “Would say that this guilt, as you’ve described, has affected your day to day?” Alex smirked then, “your saying me guilt is corresponding wif the anxiety.” It wasn’t a question, because Alex knew it was the implied truth. Javis however, turned his head to the side and quirked the corner of his lips slightly, as if in contemplative thought. “I suppose I’m suggesting that guilt - this kind of guilt,” he said carefully, no uncertainty or accusation in it, “...it has a way of keeping up with us.”

Alex sighed heavily, pursing his lips as he let what had been proposed sink in.

He wished - fuck, he could fill a book containing what he wished - wished to undo or modify or detach himself from.

“Sometimes…” Alex uttered into the air between he and Jarvis, “I can’t remember what if felt like before…” He trailed off, but soon arrived at his meaning; “before.” He finished, scoffing softly at it. He had to find amusement in his misery - what was the alternative?

“Before, this anxiety?” Jarvis prodded gently, while unemotional, that was the true victory of spilling one’s guts to a paid professional - no personal mess or resentment.

“Before…” Alex shook his head and chuckled lightly - slightly un-at home with his emotions - and ran a hand through his hair. “M’sorrey,” Alex shrugged, “I joost - I don’t…” He sighed, “I-I…” he looked up almost pleadingly at his therapist, the lad smiled sanctuary and told Alex, “s’okay, we can always come back to it, if you like.” He did not like.

Alex blew out a smiling breath, “yeah…” he breathed, “thanks.” He sat back in his seat as the topic floated away - for now.

 

3

Alex had gotten home late, he had indulged in a drink or two at a bar located comedically close to the psychiatry practice. Then he’d caught a lift home, silently absorbing the experience.

Miles was in his room when Alex stumbled inside, he ignored the temptation to go and see him -  just to say hi or I’m sorry I’m an asshole. Instead he slipped into bed and away from this place.

 

The darkness surrounded Alex as if he were blind, though when he searched for his hands - there they were, clear as day. He took in the exposed skin of his upper-half,  the flesh unshadowed and unaffected by this perpetual, inklike existence.

In the distance there is nothing, and below his feet even less. Alex’ complete aloneness doesn’t bother him so much as it informs him something significant is about to occur. Before another thought can pass his foggy, drugged mind he is on his stomach. Alex is neither laying on a solid plane nor floating, it is as if he’s suspended by an invisible rope.

Next comes the edged steel to his spine, pressure pushing into his taut flesh in such a way that Alex is tempted to scream. He isn’t cut by this razor-like sensation, but instead feels the entry of a steel wire passing through the end of his neck, his cervical-spinal section invaded by this thin tool. Alex soon feels accompanying cables just as thin invading the skin covering his back, he grunts and jerks in discomfort as the sharp points dissect him like a frog.

The pain becomes unbearable as he is anatomized, pinches of nerves and the pulling of flesh has him calling out in agony. Just as the convulse of bite and hurt reach their peak, and Alex is certain he’ll pass out from the trauma, he hears a man’s voice yelling and is lunging forward in his bed covers.

His body is tight and compact, chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught the breath that he must have been holding as he dreamt. Alex felt the sweat bonding his shirt and sweatpants to his shivering skin, he pressed a hand to his chest and listened to his broken, cracked breathing. Alex then became aware of the dry, straining pain in the back of his throat, as if he’d been yelling. Then, he realised that the call of pain that had awoken Alex must have been his own. Within seconds of the screaming awakening, he’d heard footsteps rushing towards his room. Still being of a fragile, shaken state, Alex flinched in jump-scare when Miles burst through his bedroom door. He was also panting, and also in his sleep-wear that would have make Alex swoon were he not so agitated. The thin, transparent singlet he wore lifted and fell with his nervous breathing, and his tracksuits were loose in a way that made him appear undone, vulnerable and rather mortal.

“Alex?” He snapped anxiously, bringing the man’s attention to Miles’ expression. His brows were crossed in concern, his mouth was open as air was pushed in and out of it. He was looking at Alex in a way that broke his heart, though not the traditional way - this was like a hit to the chest that sent a single, thick, continuous ripple of guilt through him. He was almost annoyed that Miles could be so humane to him after what Alex had done, even if he _was_ unaware.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” Alex pushed out, his breath weak and shuddering. He frowned at Miles’ concern, his face that was softer now and doubtful.

“I-I heard, you - s-screamed.” He stuttered, washing his gaze over Alex’ clenched state. The boy swallowed around a breath his lungs refused to take, running a hand through his hair - his forehead was damp with sweat and so the unwashed tuft stayed sat back obediently. “I said I’m fine.” He pressed, looking from his hands that trembled up to the vision in his doorway. It was dark, but the hall-light lit him like a shadowed protector. “But-” Miles sputtered, confused by Alex’ naturality when they had  both been shocked awake by his screaming, a call loud enough to reach the guest room. “Miles.” Alex said monotone, sighing with cruel disinterest in the lad’s concern for him. “Joost go back to bed.” He wanted Miles away from him, at least then he wasn’t lying to his face - pretending he could ever deserve Miles’ rescue. He would be a thief to accept his help.

The man at his door blinked at him for a second, bewildered and lost by Alex’ evasion. “A…” he stuttered, considering Alex’ dismissal,, “o-kay…” he frowned to himself now, as if he’d been the one a fault. Alex nodded passively, watching the man rotate towards the direction he’d burst in from. Alex watched Miles leaving - he didn’t like it, regret soon brewing inside him - his stomach and chest, even the twitchy fingers he glares down at.

“Miles?” Alex called out pathetically, searching for him as he lifted his eyes desperately.The lad was back through the door in an instant, as if he’d been waiting for Alex to change his mind - did he honestly know him so well?”

“Yeah?” He breathed attentively, eyes flicking over Alex once more as his hands fondled where the hung. His hair was unkempt and the skinny tank top he wore clung, leaving enough skin for Alex to understand why he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off Miles in the park on that first date.

“Could, erm, could you…” Alex mumbled, entwining his own hands nervously over his crossed legs. Words shocked or shaken from his possession.

“...stay?” Miles dared to guess softly, raising his brows even gentler. Alex blew out a smiled breath, “yeah - that.” He breathed, smirking silently down at his hands, and looking up at his looming night-taker.

Miles nodded, creeping into the space almost hesitantly, as if second-guessing his place in their entire dynamic.

He lingered in the space between Alex’ door and the foot of his bed, “er…” he murmured awkwardly, clearly unsure where he was wanted.

“Joost get in the fookin’ bed.” Alex grunted, shimmying over and pulling down the covers to the empty side. He remained sat up right, knees to his chest, ignoring the sheets. Alex regarded his blinded window as he felt the weight of a body climbing into bed, his eyes were suddenly cloudy as his heart upturned. Of course, it was the inconvenient fragility of a nightmare than had left him so glass-like, but Alex realised he hadn’t felt this, the weight of another body in bed with him, in so long. The safe, unalone feeling that came with knowing you weren’t the only one asleep here.

He sighed quietly, blinking back that melancholia. “ _Hey._ ” He heard Miles accuse in realisation, Alex snapped his head in the man’s direction, briefly regarding the way he looked - half covered by the duvet, sat up like Alex only with his endless legs stretching down the bed. “Wot?” He asked, wondering where the look of scandal was, considering Miles’ tone. The lad shook his head and looked at Alex playfully, “yer bed is like twice the size of mine.” He said in a disbelieving giggle, looking over the bed once more, “‘an _yer_ the one ‘aving nightmares?” Alex cracked a smile and chuckled lightly, the vibration of laughter relieving his tenseness slightly.

Alex grinned, “joost count yer blessin’s it’s not the couch.” He scolded laughingly, piercing Miles with a funny, pointed look.

The man in bed with him giggled and nodded to this, “alreight, alreight.” He relented smilingly, rubbing the ends of the blacket between his thumb and forefinger, Alex smiled at it. He then sunk back into his sleeping position with a heavy exhale. “Time?” He asked Miles, then feeling him leaning over to check the digital clock on the nightstand, “one thirty-seven.” He said with teasing precision, Alex hummed annoyedly to the early hour.

After a while of silence, Alex dared to glance at Miles. He had also lowered himself, staring up at the ceiling with a soft look on his face. Alex followed his line of sight, soon accompanying him in gazing up at the blank plaster.

He swallowed a dehydrated breath, “hey...Miles?” Alex murmured in a quiet husk, uncertain if he was awake or slept with his eyes open. “Hm?” The man responded, that throaty vibration sending shivers through Alex.

“I...I’m sorrey.” He said, referring with obvious direction to his behaviour towards Miles these last few days - Alex’ not so much cold, but unnatural manner with Miles as he worked his feelings for him, whatever they were. Wanting to avoid…just - avoid.

“Me too.” What the hell was wrong with him? When did he get so fucking selfless?

“No, Miles, m’serious...I-I haven’t been....” he sighed, staring up at the same hard surface the other was. “Alex.” Miles comforted gently, turning on his side to face him. Alex mirrored him, but shimmied up so that he slumped against the head-board. “You don’t…” Miles said, sitting up fully, looming partly above Alex. “...You never need to apologise for what goes on in tha’ ‘ead of yours.” He smiled, a giggle humming through his chest.

Alex chuckled softly to this,  his dimples lifted and eyes crinkled at the corners.

Miles looked down at him, grinning in the moment. Alex could sense those eyes scanning him - the sensation had become a kind of pulse.

Alex sighed and sat up as well, his bangs falling over his cheekbones as he scratched his neck tiredly. It was then, between his fatigue and chaotic mind, that Alex seeked those hazel orbs - that even without light shone - and found them already flashing over him. Something unasking, something daring swimming in them.

Alex’ eyes flicked over Miles, wondering where or what the reason for that look was - he found nothing but himself. He gave Miles a weird smile, raising his brows in an attempt to ask something without words.

Miles saw Alex’ confusion in the way he watched him, “I…” the man said breathlessly, releasing a steadying breath, licking his lips absent-mindedly. His eyes flicked to Alex’ mouth and then up to his searching eyes, the air was suddenly light and almost perfumed. Alex watched Miles closely, trying to read him, though at this moment the lad seemed of another language entirely.

“I - I’m sorrey,” Miles breathed, leaning dangerously close to Alex, “hate me afterwards.” He huffed needily, entering the boy’s space. And with that, pressed his lips to Alex’.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you for your patience! As always I’ll be back to fix typos later. Song mentioned in car is Monsters by Something For Kate.  
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	11. I love you like an alcoholic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again - Scott Fitzgerald 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graffic sexual themes, you’ve been warned :))

_Three years earlier…_

1 

The pub he was rooted in on his warm April night was heavy and clung to him like the jacket he’d taken off, the only thing close to refreshing was the glass in his hand and the distance between him and his artist’s block, patiently waiting for him at home.

Alex honestly didn't mind being seen alone - he _was_ alone. He shifted in the stool he was currently bonded to, leaning his forearms against the bar’s edge, his posture wilted and quiff held within it’s pomade limit. 

Alex had reluctantly spent the better part of this unending month digging around his head, scavenging endlessly for that spark to hit - some untapped concept to reveal itself to him - he felt he’d exhausted every outlet. All routes he imagined would bring him lyrical inspiration were failing him simultaneously. 

Fishing the pack of cigarettes in the back pocket of his jeans out, Alex slid one between his teeth before pinching his jacket, eyeing the exit with decision. 

As he neared the back door, coat in hand and intoxication evident, he realised he’d left his lighter behind. Sure, he could ask to use someone else’s - give them the old doe eyes - but Nick had shouted him that lighter at their last festival. The thing was shaped like a skull and glowed in the dark - Alex had decided then and there, when O’Malley had watched him unwrap it,  that this was not something he could live without. 

He thought about the lads as he moved back in the direction he’d come from, eyeing the object he’d misplaced. He thought about Helders, Cookie and O’Malley with a recent envy for their flowing contribution to the ensemble, a favour Alex felt he wasn’t returning recently. The anvil weighing down his usual mojo had blocked more than just his lyrical ability, with this prevention of expression, Alex was beginning to feel rather useless. 

That, he supposed was what had brought him here, to this smoggy bar of drunken trouble.

As Alex slipped the lighter into his back pocket, cig between lips, he couldn’t help but be drawn in by the bruff-voiced insults being spewed a few stools down. He rolled his eyes to it, deciding to ignore this brawl - far too eager for his nicotine buzz to linger. However, as he rotated to continue his quest for rolled tobacco, Alex’ attention, along with his body, was snapped into action when the entire bar collectively gasped. 

Alex’ head cocked in the direction of the scuffle unfolding. It was with an uneasy regard that Alex watched the tri factor of self-assured masculinity encircle the tall, dark haired man spitting American-accented insults. 

There were four men in the early stages of broiling, the man provoking the three other bruisers seemed to be the main event - outshining the jukebox and footie reruns. This man appeared quite separate from them, he was obviously drunk and looking to fight whatever was closest to him. “Someone better break it up…” Alex heard a man mutter to his friend at the bar, he turned his attention once more to catch the growing friction between the four men. Now, that single aggressor was threatening the biggest with something slurred - in all honesty, it seemed as though the guy _wanted_ to be punched. Alex’ eyes darted from the scene brewing to the bar’s other inhabitants, all wide eyed and wordless. The space had muted completely - the music silenced, the small-talk punctuated and completed. It was as if the entire world had quieted to watch.

Alex too was quiet, but perked up immediately when one of the brutes delivered a mean punch to the single stranger’s jaw. Alex’ head shot back in shock, waiting along with everyone else for the stiken man’s reaction.

The man straightened up, his unruly head of hair hanging over his wounded statue. He lifted his sunken skull to show off a sharp glare, piercing the men with a daring sneer as a bloom of merlot-red pooled at the corner of his mouth - no sign of relent in his eye. 

It was then, when the tension became snappable, that the stranger had spat a ruby threat into the largest bloke’s face, the bloodied saliva meant as cruel as a returned fist. 

The entire bar held its breath.

The man wiped his face with the cloth of his thick fingers, looking from the mess up to the boy with a hard, almost savage pin. His two goons regarded the spitter as if he were already in the dirt. 

The spat on man made his move - a look of violent determination threaded into his features as he launched toward, catapulting his fist and violent attention towards the American, this one hitting his brow.

It was then that Alex realised he had completely abandoned his jacket and hopes for a cigarette back at the bar, and was currently advancing towards the clash before anymore blows were thrown.

“Hey-hey-hey!” Alex roused in an attempt to alleviate, the largest had raised a third fist meaningfully - the man it aimed for however, seemed to welcome it completely. 

The American looked at Alex through the paint of blood trailing down his face, the crimson trekking down his eyelid in a vertical strip. He was breathing sharply through his nose, frowning at Alex as if considering whether he’d sock him too. But he didn’t, instead Alex noticed those eyes scanning him - _all_ of him.

“Look, mate, you had your fun,” Alex stated to the beast death-staring the man he defended, “I think you _both_ did.” He continued, frowning hard at the lone wolf still growling. “So let’s all joost... fuck off in different directions, yeah?” He finished vigilantly, looking down at his arm and realising he’d been holding the dog back. The revved American’s chest vibrated with anger against Alex’ hand that urged him back, making him feel weaker than the situation he was in. His hair was an absolute fright of a mop, thick and as dark as the circles under his pooled eyes of umber. His skin was just a shade lighter from olive, though was currently met with a cascading maroon, tinting that otherwise delicate surface. Alex swallowed around this horribly-timed attraction to regard the man he’d put the question to. 

The ruffian of a man sniffed, “fine.” He grunted, not once looking at Alex as he pierced the man behind him with a cold stare - that icy look finally deciding to relent. 

The beast had turned to be done with this, his henchmen tailing close behind when he had then - as if an afterthought - muttered over his shoulder, “asshole.” 

And in domino effect, the lion under Alex’ so-called protection had lunged forward, right past Alex, who had gone after him almost expectantly. He had attempted to catch the anarchist before he could do much damage, but had missed him by an inch - the man’s sweaty shirt slipping through Alex’ fingers as he essentially jumped this guy. 

“ _What_ -the-fu-” the man spat in an impacted jolt, the other two springing  into action - frantically attempting to rip the degranged boy from their accomplice’s back. 

When they do manage to detach the vicious animal, one held him back by the elbows, the other began bringing down blow after blow to his perfect face. 

The third and main agitator of this evenning - the American excluded - was yelling something at him about his being a mother-fucker or something, but Alex’ senses were too busy withdrawing from the alcohol and passive nature to understand the twat he was about to fuck-up. Before his vision had caught up with movement, Alex had collided his knuckles with someone’s nose, followed by a splintering upper-cut even he was surprised by.

The man he’d stricken wailed, grabbing his face as he cowarded towards the bar - and ice. 

Next Alex was pulling the American from the arms of the other attacker, holding the man at arms length before ducking a hit to the face. He managed to miss that one, but wasn’t so lucky with the next - a particularly pissed off fist was wedded directly to his bottom lip, popping the skin like overripe fruit. He groaned, pressing his fingers to area, the limbed weapon returning to his eyes stained in a red-wine tone. His quiff hung over his eyes viciously, and in the next moment Alex was lifting his head to find the American catching another fist meant for him.

“Where the fuck are your manners?” The stranger spat bloodily at the puncher, “this is between us, leave him out of it, fuckface.” The man then slammed his head to the other’s in a charming head butt, causing them both to ricochet backwards - the goon to his remaining mate, and the American into Alex, who caught him roughly. 

“Enough!” The ring leader yelled, holding his friend tight, “enough…” he muttered, waving the other over before they begrudgingly retreated, filing out and taking the bar’s silence with them.

Alex was panting shawolly as he watched them leave, the stinging in his lip making him squint in discomfort. When the trio had left, and the bar had at last resumed movement and audio, Alex turned to the nameless stranger he’d willingly taken a hit for.

He was staring at Alex open mouthed, also catching his breath. His jaw was strong and along it formed the beginnings of bruising, Alex then took in the man’s entire profile - finally identifying the American.

“Hey, aren’t you-” but the man had pulled Alex into his space by the collar, his beer-scented aroma sending a direct vibration to Alex’ crotch. “-meet me in the  bathroom in sixty-seconds.” The man breathed, that accent ringing melodically through Alex like liquid. The stranger flicked his puma-like eyes predatorily over the lad, bathing Alex in an electrified tub, before leaving his field of vision completely - gone like the words he uttered. 

Alex’ cheeks had taken on an uncatalogued shade of pink, his eyes glued to the hard-wood flooring. He breathed out a shallow, shuddering breath before running a hand through his now disheveled hair, regarding the shimmery substance of gel between his fingers. He flicked his eyes around him as he made to find his jacket, hoping no one had nicked it, though there the leather coat sat, obediently waiting where he’d draped it over a bar stool. Alex slid it on, his face still stinging when he dared to touch his cut lip, and before he knew it, he was mindlessly gravitating towards the gent’s.

God, he tasted better on Alex’ tongue than anything he’d drunk all night.

Pressed up against the bathroom stall, Alex held on tight to the man assaulting him with his mouth. The inked wall featuring a myriad of phone numbers and troubling quotes united with his back. He’d hooked his leg around the hip of the man kissing and smelling Alex  - lips pressing deeply against the flesh, making him squirm and pull the man in harder.

Alex urged the stranger’s lips to his, savouring every flick of tongue engulfing his in scandalous sucks and pulls.The man responded eagerly, the taste of hot copper reminding Alex of their mortal-kombat moment just minutes ago, the flavour and messy exchange of blood only driving Alex wilder.

The American’s hands had locked to Alex’ hips the moment he’d appeared, pressing their denim-bound cocks close enough to graze, causing an agonisingly weak amount of friction - effectively eliciting groans from the two of them. Alex clasped venomous fingers into the man’s hair, demanding more of him. His other hand, tingly and charged, ventured lower.

He rubbed the man over his pants, earning impatient grunts from the beauty gluing himself to Alex. The man let off his waist, redirecting his hands and attention to the lad’s belt. Alex’ head hung back, pressing against the sketchbook wall, his skull reclining  as his mouth hung open in awe. The American had dropped to his knees, keen to taste Alex as he undid his pant’s security. Alex hissed when he was inside the man’s mouth, the wet warmth encasing his painfully hard cock sent a charge of need through him. “Th-tha’ were p-pretty stupid…” Alex stuttered between shocking bursts of pleasure.

The stranger detached himself from Alex’ stunning cock, glistening and slick in this obscene light. “Which part?” He panted roughly, his voice weathered and hoarse. Alex snickered, finally gazing down at the man he had yet to officially acquaint himself with. 

He was breathing hurriedly - they both were. “Most of it.” He smirked, chest rising and falling, his cock twitching and desperate for the hug of soft heat again. “Most of it?” The sonorous voice echoed teasingly, Alex tensed when he felt the heat of the man’s breath against the skin of his bare thighs. He hummed, his head weakening once more when the American began planting lingering kisses to the soft flesh. Were all drunk hook-ups this intense? This...intimate?

The man’s venturing lips caused Alex’ teeth to sink into his lips, as if having the most painful event transpire inside him. 

“Was _this_ a stupid move?” He asked bruffly, thinning his kisses out as he leaned back, looking up at Alex’ hung head. His grease-lighting hairstyle luring the man in like an oblivious moth to a lovely death. 

Alex leveled his eyes with the other’s, smiling and shrugging slightly. “Too early to say…” he breathed, eyes closing in the memory of that mouth. The American laughed - the sound instantly becoming something Alex knew he’d miss once this is over. 

The unnamed quirked his lips, biting the inside of his cheek as he blinked slowly up at Alex, “so far so good?” He ventured, smirking playfully up at the lad, brows raised in askance, his lips plump and wet by Alex’ doing. The man against the solid wall cracked a smile through his breathing, his system becoming desperate, “we were definitely gettin’ somewhere.”  

“ _Oh_ ,” The man kneeling below Alex said, denying a smile. “Pardon me, I tend to enjoy a little banter before I blow a man.” Alex snickered at that frankness, the sound humming through him as he shook his head fondly. The man with heaven for a mouth sighed with relent, “well, I suppose I can make an exception…” he mused, licking a stripe up Alex’ hanging cock - extracting a whimper- “considering the solid you did for me back there.” Alex wanted to laugh at that - his admirable wit, but also the immense amusement Alex found in the sound of him - he sounded like a moviestar with that accent - someone in an action film. The one you google when you’re alone.  

Before any snarky or sarcastic response could fill Alex’ palate, he was making an almost inpained sound as the untitled man pressed his hands to Alex’ thighs, finally taking him back. 

The clasping envelope of his mouth sucked Alex off in such a way that he was soon bringing his hands into the American’s hair, begging more of himself down the man’s throat. The ovenlike heat of his inner cheeks and concaving tongue, rolling around the parching rod inside his mouth with a desperate starvation. 

Along with this euphoric chemical filling Alex’ drunk, horny body, came the standard reserve one had when fucking a stranger. However, with each suck - pulling air from Alex’ lungs in each motion - he realised this was very different. 

Alex moaned softly, though soon more guttural remarks were sounding off as the man beneath him took it deeper and deeper, eventually pushing so much of Alex’ cock down his throat that he had to still himself, letting the fuck-muscle occupy him for as long as it liked. 

“Oh, fu-uck, y-yes...” Alex huffed as he felt the cresendo of orgasim rushing towards him, his balls heavy and begging to relieve them themselves of this glorious containment. With this uprise of animalist tempremate, Alex began rocking his hips into the mouth holding him, his quivering body pouring into the stunning unknown’s presence. 

“F-fuck, I,” Alex sighed,  “I’m gonna…” He moaned the sentence shut towards the end, his senses stinging in a sweet heat. As Alex hauled more of himself down this man’s throat,  his hips thrusting perilously towards his finish, he marvelled at the delightfully grateful moans coming out of the lips around him, the frequency doing something untamed to the man. 

Locking something inside him.

He came hard, his furious seed satisfying the American’s appetite, when the mouth being filled with the lad’s conclusion moaned with audible strain Alex realised he’d been jerking himself to the rhythm of that violent pulse. The thick, white crism of Alex swallowed contently with a throaty hum, traces of the cream trailing down the man’s chin like a slutty vampire - the slick transparency meeting the bloodied crimson in unison pink. 

He looked so gorgeous kneeling before Alex, that hot mess pouring from his killer mouth.

Alex sagged, heaving a hard breath out of his lungs, a satisfied curl of lip creeping in as reality swam back into the circuits of his perception. His fingers retracted from the ocean of umber they held, Alex looked down at the unnoted man - his bangs shading his reeling eyes like vine, the man looked up and sighed smirkingly: “Julian.” He breathed, extending his hand with sudden officiality.

Alex huffed a laugh out, smiling down at Julian as he shook his hand, “Alex.” He verified, sliding down the stall wall, staring face to face with the uncovered identity.  

They caught their breath as they sat, smirking dumbly at each other like past-curfew teenagers.

“Can I get you a drink?” Julian offered - the look in Alex’ eyes answering for him. 

 

2

“I _know_ it’s not a big deal…” Alex agreed, blowing a silver cloud from his lips. “But I joost...I want you to be sure.” He leaned onto his elbow to tap the cigarette against the ashray lip, the flakes shedding as the lit end shone on. Alex returned to his back, the plum duvet under him warm and bunched as a result of earlier pleasantries. He heard Jules sigh with a playful persistence, “I _am_ sure Alex. I want you to move in.” He verified lovingly, “I want to wake up…” he hummed, watching Alex from the far end of the bed,  “...and fall asleep holding you.” The complete amore in Julian’s statement rippled through Alex’ heart, he smiled hypnotically around the smoke he exhaled, blinking almost dazedly up at the ceiling’s egg-shell tone.

Alex pursed his lips, repressing a colossal grin as he eased up onto his elbows. He gazed over to his partner who lounged higher up the bed, his head to the board and guitar in lap. Alex snubbed out his cig over the steel tray, pressing the little paper cylinder to the metal - the life it briefly contained dying as it must. 

“Okay.” Alex decided smilingly, staring at his lap - contemplating the raw tips of his fingers, the sweet sting of calloused productivity. He bit his bottom lip in an attempt to calm his blooming excitement, flicking his eyes up at Julian. The American’s eyes had lit, which to Alex felt like being injected with a lethal dose of cocaine - his blood felt of chromatic confetti when Julian looked at  him like that. Jules’ brown, muddy eyes regarded Alex adoringly, “okay.” He reverberated, seizing his light-strumming against the glossy instrument that had been in bed with the two all morning. 

They’d both been woken up by an alarm Alex had forgotten to abort the night before - some ridiculous hour wherein the sun had yet to rise. They’d both groaned in unison like a set of wolves, Julian asking Alex in sleep-deprived sarcasm; ‘do you _want_ me to break your phone?’ The lad had essentially fell out of the covers and heat of Jules to shut it up.

Now Alex, being the compensative man he was, had of course made it up to his boyfriend. His cheeks turned a light pink in tribute to the memory of that early-morning blowjob, the recollection triggering a fond rub to his aching jaw.

Julian leaned over to perch the guitar against the nightstand by the bed, killing his own cigarette before climbing down the mattress to meet Alex. 

He and Alex seemed so small on that bed - the oceanic pool of creamy bedsheets acting as a cloud, gentle with them even when they themselves were anything but. 

Julian came to tower over Alex in nothing but his boxers, looming above him, stilted by his knees. Alex looked up at his lover - his partner, with adoration and a visible sense of being protected. He nuzzled his face into Julian’s rough-skinned palms when they came to his cheek, the man ran his fingers through Alex’ unwashed shag of brown waves, getting the tuft out of his eyes.

 Alex never felt more like himself than during episodes like this one; when Jules set aside the universe to touch Alex, to look at him and hear him. That was the thing with Julian - he was always holding and kissing Alex, but these instances of undivided spotlight were less than usual. The fact only made Alex bask more appreciatively, take in the complete heat of the sun while he was offering his light. 

Alex lifted himself to his knees in a reflection of Jules, keeping is arms at his side as he let the man explore his skin - the adventure to Julian’s touch was as if they hadn’t been dating for the last six months. Alex briefly let his eyes slip shut as recounted, letting that reel click over his lids. The days like this, in bed and inside this room with him. In bed-room jam sessions, writing - for Alex’ dry spell had spilt the moment he’d touched the American -  insatiable concourse towards each other. The honey-like symphony to Julian’s orgasm, the way he filled and finished Alex like an animal - his territory never satisfactorily marked. 

Alex kept his eyes shut to enjoy Jules’ caresses to the fullest, his breathing deepening as those fingers came to contact his lips, touching the rosy pads as if memorizing them, or to figure out the spell they never failed to cast.

His broad digits, like textured card, drifted from Alex’ mouth down to carefully trace his collarbone. The lad’s head hung - dark, greasy bangs pouring from his head. Alex slid his own arms up his boyfriend’s flanks, locking his hands behind the man’s neck. He lifted his eyes, taking in the gorgeous sight. Julian smiled softly at him, “I can’t wait to wake up to your fucking alarm clock every morning.” Alex cracked a grin and laughed up at him, removing one hand from where it draped along Jules’ shoulders, running it down the skin along his waist, against the sharp angles of his hips. “You sure yer not joost excited for what went on _after_?” Alex wondered aloud, slipping his flat palm past the elastic waist-band - excited by the heat belonging below it. 

Julian chuckled lightly, biting his bottom lip softly before reaching down to remove Alex’ giving hand from where it fondled him. The slighter man frowned at it questioningly, eyeing his boyfriend closely. 

Jules brought the hand up to his lips and kissed the knuckles, “let me…” he whispered in a empasis so delicate, so ready to give, that Alex’ body turned into something just as surrendering and soft. He peered up through his heavy lashes, fluttering with each slow blink, he pulled the roseate skin of his bottom lip between his teeth, nodding longingly to his conqueror. 

And with that warm, easing green light, Julian leaned in to press his soft, silken lips to Alex’ skin, aiming for the curve of his precious neck. The boy sighed into it, gently folding his arms around Julian’s shoulder-blades, letting his eyes sweep shut once more as his partner urged him backwards. 

Julian’s kisses travelled lower as he draped Alex atop the plump sheets, settling between the lad’s trembling legs. Alex helped Jules tentatively peel the boxers from his thighs, the garment sent harshley away - as if each second Alex was clothed, Julian wasn’t breathing. 

“Julian?” Alex murmured so silently it seemed almost to himself, though the brunet between his legs looked up at him with lust blown pupils, a neediness itching its way through him. Alex swallowed and let off one of his elbows to brush a bulk of dark-brown from his boyfriend’s face, “I love you,” he reminded him gently, his body locked to the sensation of Julian’s hot breath against his cock. The man smirked up at Alex, pulling himself up to kiss him hard. When he let off he pressed his forehead to the boy’s, “I love you. Always.” He purred in bonding promise, licking a wet streak along Alex’ jaw. Alex sighed dreamily, letting Julian guide him flat against his back, recognizing the tingling cross-currents charging through his thrumming veins, wanting nothing more than to tuck himself into Julian and remain there.

 “Don’t - uh...don’t let my declarations delay you.” He giggled around his mounting thirst, his knees lifting either side of Jules’ ribs. Julian snickered against the flesh he kissed, shuffling lower to where the boy needed him most. Alex pushed out a heavy, anticipatory breath, fantasising about the two living together. Living with Julian. 

 

3

The gun-like crack of the door slammed only put Alex on further edge, “my _point_ , Alex, is that you’re taking this way too fucking seriously.” Jules called after him, refusing to leave the argument in the car. Were he a cat, Alex breify mused, he’d arch his back and hiss - running away from the attachments he’d allowed others to believe he had. 

Alex decided that, given Jules’ particularly stormy state, looking back - or offering any form of recognition would only hoist this argument front and center.

As a substitute for giving in and returning Julian’s lashes of drunken blasphemy, Alex allowed the invisible cord around his waist to pull him in the trajectory of the liquor cabinet. 

He heard and with equal repulse felt Julian scoff from somewhere behind him - locationless in Alex’ pleasant blindspot. “Fucking hypocrite.” The inebriated flame muttered in Alex’ direction, the sentiment bruff and unfair in its entirety. Alex desperately ignored it - knowing Julian would latch onto the mere hint of retort. Any response Alex emitted, verbal or not - no matter how reasonable - would, in these instances, incubate only a louder, crueller confrontation. So, with nothing nice to say, Alex said nothing at all.

He noted Julian’s telling grunt as he sunk to one of the sofas, it honestly relieved Alex to know Jules wouldn’t join him in anymore drinking, perhaps this spat was ending just as the rest.

“Telling me _I’m_ the alcoholic.” He snarled under his breath, the abstractness to the snark made Alex realise he needed to see Julian’s face - even if it meant plummeting into an impossible place - he needed to understand the motive to those words, how harshly Julian had meant them.

The American, cloaked in troubled trench - his rockstar’s allure shining through any resentment Alex could ever feel - lifted his head just as the lad rotated. Spiced rum in hand as he stood, feeling extremely separate from everything all of a sudden. He regarded Julian almost expressionlessly - _almost_. In Alex’ eyes - the sorrow’s undeniable focal point - sat something both hurt and unimpressed. He wondered if this was how old, strained marriages cealed themselves - insults becoming as tedious and acceptable as blinking.

“What?” Alex pried in a brief clip, the pronoun slicing the distance between them; effectively macheting the almost habitual silence. It continued for a moment - that muteness. Until Julian looked up from his hands to glare annoyedly to his partner, “I said,” pulling himself to a stand, “maybe you should focus less on _my_ table manners, and more on your own fucking etiquette.” It was with little enjoyment that Jules moved these days, this Alex could observe in how he now approached him, his posture ungiving and resentful. To Jules’ drunken incivility Alex sighed with miserable exhaustion. The drinking, Alex knew, wasn’t all Julian needed reassessed; the dependence had certainly taken its toll on their conjoined existence.

 “You ‘ave a problem, Julian.” Alex uttered, settling the bottle of spirits to the wooden depository behind him. The man now hovered close, disarmingly close - the scent of liquor and Casablancas filling Alex’ senses with a kind of dissociative illness. “I know I do,” he replied to Alex’ original injection, “...and he just doesn’t seem to know when to shut his mouth.” Jules reached around Alex, eyes brutally locked as his fingers wrapped the glass neck. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Alex spat back in puncturing reprisal, destesting Julian’s pin-cushion heart. He glared up at the cloudy man downing far too much booze in far too short of time, resurfacing in abrupt snarl. “You tell me,” he sneered, pacing back into the living-space, bottle and Alex’ liquid escape in hand. “You seem to be the fucking expert.” He added in a pitiful gnarl, scowling to himself - perhaps to the imploding direction the fight was taking. Alex crossed his arms over his soft skit sweater, “Julain, I...I’m joost…” their strain seemed endless these days, “you...you need help, love.” He murmured, the sentence so often implored it had lost meaning. Undoing his velcro arms, he moved to meet his boyfriend between sofas. The area’s dim, dial lighting was a honey shower over their thundering trouble, Alex became struck once more by Julian’s power over him. Though tonight his eyes hosted a forgien and somewhat uncalled for sense of decision. “Maybe I do.” Julian uttered, which Alex would have taken - would have held and loved and been content with. It was only when Alex reached out to Jules, and he flinched away, pressing the botte’s lips to his, that Alex realised there was more. He groaned and lowered the bottle, “maybe I do need help, Alex.” He reiterated, glaring half-heartedly down at the man. “But I..I don’t...I don’t need _you_.” He muttered finally, his mental cogs visibly catching up as he frowned down at the rug beneath them. 

Alex swallowed around, blinked away, pushed back the nauseating thorns filling his entire figure. “Yer drunk Julian.” He decided in internal rush, attempting a dead-pan in returning that cold stare. Jules’ eyes brightened within their murky limit, “ _don’t_ call me that, you little shit.” Jules snapped, pointing a bitten nail in the man’s face. Alex’ punishing palm came across the drunken anarchist's cheek, eyelashes helping to maintain those ridiculous tears he could never wrap his brain around. 

The skin to skin audio of the strike rang inside Alex, though he felt no real regret as though perhaps he should - the act seemed to him, his to do. The most unpleasant was this part - all of that screech and violet, flashing frequency - only to be met by both a numbing and _piercing_ silence. Julian’s head, hung as it had the first night at that bar, eventually lifted to reveal contoured grimace, the regard conclusive in its complete dullness. Jules glared causelessly at him, and then scoffed around venomous finality, “so long, Alex.” He grunted, pushing the bottle to Alex’ chest, passing him in careless discount. Alex’ mind, wherever it had been, dropped back into his skull as he realised what was about to happen - what _was_ happening. 

“J-Julain, where...” he mumbled incoherently, watching helplessly as Jules moved towards their bedroom. Soon he was following close behind, rum gripped nervously as he tailed Jules. 

He was pulling out t-shirts, jeans, socks, and all Alex could do was watch.

“You - you’re tired.” Was all he could croak, “let’s joost-” Julian turned to face him from where he stuffed a depressingly worn duffel bag, “fight, Alex - it’s all we fucking do.” He zipped the center opening and hoisted it over his shoulder, “I don’t want to do…” he trailed off, and then with a single gesture swept over their room. “- _This_ ,” he continued, “anymore.” Alex supposed that included him - everything he had buried himself under.

“But you love me.”

“Jesus Christ, Alex.” Was all he offered, as if to a man unbeknown to the real world - as if the two were no longer a common species. He balanced the fraying canvas bag over his shoulder, taking a moment to visually rake over the room. Alex could never know if it was with reminicance that he regarded their bedroom, or that he was simply making sure he’d retrieved all that he needed. Alex refused to join him in any recollection, sentimental or not. He clutched the ethanol between both hands, still to his chest as Julian had left it. His diaphragm solidified in a stroke of denial engulfed anxiety, spinning around to catch Jules as he - with a heartbreaking disregard for their home, their nest - exited the space. Leaving the area behind with the same sense of abandonment crawling into Alex’ system - the emptiness easily translated to their ending conchord. “Julian, y-you…” his infinitives and urgencies melting from his mind as Julian stood in the raided chamber’s door frame. 

Alex stared through puddled eyes over to where Jules stood - his disbelief gluing him to the carpeting,  lungs repulsed by air and his heart deciding without Alex to encrypt itself.  

Julian sighed, flicking his eyes from the floor to Alex. “It’s just...it’s better this way, Al.” 

By the time his mind had caught up with those words, Jules was gone. The bottle dropped to Alex's feet, breaking almost as loud as his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you are 100% entitled to hate me for dangling things in your face before ripping them away.  
> Title by Taxpayers, give it a listen and be edgy why don't ya


	12. even harder to define

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I...yeah.

 

1

His eyes slipped shut when their lips united again, inhaling through his nose with the same romanticism as a junkie.

Miles’s hand brushed over Alex’s hip to rest over the rise and fall of his stomach, his thumb rubbing softly over the shirt’s fabric. Both slipping past each other’s most solid barricades as their tongues did the same, Alex hummed against the hot tool pushing into his mouth, hearing the deep breaths Miles took, so focally calculated as he peered down at Alex when they returned for air. His breath truly was like a caress, as if he were mindlessly exhaling un-plotted kisses. Alex sighed into the next collision of mouths, his fingers squeezing Miles’s singlet under them. Perhaps he should have been angry at himself for it - the instant acquiescence - but he was too far gone. And this felt too good.

Alex’ own hands - that had up until this point been numbly wrapped around Miles’s shoulders - ascended to clutch his hair. His knees lifted and parted to usher Miles between them, when Alex accidentally bit Miles’s bottom lip he’d received a hot moan down his throat, the man’s brows pressed into a concentrative pleasure as he held the slighter’s face between his tingling hands. Alex retracted one of his from Miles’s hair, pressing it over his chest, feeling the thrumming beat under his palm - recognising its relation to his own pulse. It then travelled to the place between the lad’s hips, instantly met by hardness - the sensation of holding that firm heat entered Alex’ system like morphine. 

He gave the cotton-kempt erection a light press, the movement sending a thick wave through Miles that ended in a moaned curse. Alex admired the dazed look on his face as he detached from the man, laboriously pulling himself up, planting his knees either side of Miles hips as he slipped into his lap. 

Miles reached up to brush his slender fingers along the smooth slip of Alex's mouth, the boy took those digits in, sucking hard as he felt Miles’s other hand go for the waist-band of his pants. The man weighing him down tightened the bite of the fingers in his mouth, keeping them secured there as his hands helped complete Miles’s task - pulling the tight elastic below his hips, bunching at his knees before revealing the scandalous lack of underwear. 

Alex’s cock sprang into attention, he closed his eyes in a stroke of self-consciousness, when he felt two warm palms slipping up against his cheeks, Alex let his vision open. Miles gave him simply no choice but to look at him - the scene below was enough to finish Alex off - end him in a heart-attack of terrorizing adoration. 

With his saturated fingers, Miles slipped his hand under Alex, under the cock he so desperately needed to be in closer possession of. Soon Alex was reaching for the hem of the his shirt, once his torso was bare Miles used his free hand to caress the plump rise of a solid, well-formed chest. The boy pursed his lips and let his chin lift, his ribs rising in a deep, asking inhale. He let out a delighted moan when he felt Miles’s mouth latch to a nipple. The eagerness to his action rocked Alex to his core - it wasn’t that he hadn’t expected it, perhaps he just hadn’t expected it to feel so deliciously bad. His body squirmed over the firmness below him, whimpering as Miles’s tongue swirled the pink pad - the bud hardening as it sent direct chords of suspense to Alex’s balls. 

Miles’s adoring kisses began ascending his heaving chest, eventually uniting with his lover’s lips. The kiss overwhelmed him, seemingly drowned in messages each wanted understood. When Miles let off, settling his hand over Alex’ delicate shoulder, he recalled his fingers - suspended under the heat down below. His eyes lowered to take in Alex’s state - the slick cock between them, the glistening beads of pre-come forming around the pink tip, down to his twitching balls against Miles’s wrist where he’d slid it under there.

He bit his bottom lip, watching Alex’s expression transform as he gently pressed two fingers to his entry. Immediately letting out a high, light wail, the boy’s hand came down to squeeze Miles’s sinful arm in place, the other he shoved into his own hair, shutting his eyes as his mouth dropped. Miles relished the sensation of those normally careful fingers constricting him. He held his breath as another helpless sound rolled from Alex’s tongue, sending an instant surge to his Miles’s cock - the erected shaft begging for the warmth surrounding his fingers.

 

Eventually there are three members of slender torture inside Alex’ tight opening, moving with agonizing application, each curl of finger contouring Alex’s face to a state of utter eroticism - _Alex_ was fucking pornographic. His hair hung in a kinked flourish, thick and loyally swaying the moment his head would jerk back in a lusty moan. His eyes would - when they could - lift open, and Alex would peer through furrowed brows with nothing short of worship for Miles - the way he knew - knew so effortlessly - how to touch him. 

His legs tensed either side of Miles’ thighs as those heavenly fingers managed to hit his prostate, the items applying unbearable pressure - inside him he felt the deep, unmistakable sensation. He panted in between broken sounds, his throaty squeaks setting Miles on edge. He could hear himself whimpering along with the man on top of him, not even on purpose - it was as if Alex was pulling the moans from Miles with each of his. 

Alex wailed as his back arched and head fell forward, his hands bunched Miles’s singlet between his fingers and it was clear he’d come if this continued. “A-Alex?” Miles exhaled, stilling his fingers. 

“Yes.” Was Alex’s affirmation, gritted and rough as he shuffled backwards, hissing as Miles’ torturous digits left him. His forehead yielded in such a way that his hair cascaded over both their heads, momentarily blocking everything else out. Alex breathed ruggedly into the distance between them, giving a small, genuine smile because...he suddenly felt extremely close to someone he’d felt so far apart from for so long. Miles smiled back at him, keeping his eyes fixed to Alex as he turned his head, pressing a kiss to the forearm supported by his left peck. 

Alex let out a light huff, this dimples pressing softly as he blinked down at Miles. “You’re sure?” Miles asked in a tone that admitted that he was, both of his hands had come to rest over Alex’s bare waist. The boy pulled his bottom lip tightly, nodding with a denied smirk he couldn't keep down. 

Expecting Miles’s arisen knees to stilt him, Alex mindlessly leaned backwards - instantly and abruptly plummeting onto his back with a startled gasp. Both immediately cracked up as Alex laid back defeatedly, huffing out giggles. Miles sat up so that he was between Alex's legs once more. Alex - catching his stuttering breath - gladly parted his limbs as the other man’s body slid between them. Miles made to pinch the corners of his top, balancing back on his heels as he slid the thin layer off. 

Alex bit his cheeks as he peered up, taking in Miles’s hairless, smooth plan of torso. Alex reached up to desperately rid him of those pants he suddenly despised. The man huffed a miry chuckle as Alex sat up to push the material away, head jerking back in revelation as Miles’ neglected shaft vaulted into view. 

Miles was busy throwing his singlet across the room - automatically aiming for the hamper - when Alex, like a desperate animal, had bent himself over to have that stunning thing inside his mouth. Miles pushed out a cracked moan, his hands found Alex’ hair, clutching the tuft helplessly. The wet, fleshy cushion of Alex’s mouth sent shivers through Miles, his long, drawn out groans danced with the sounds of Alex’s damp sucking, the moist clicks of his mouth lubricating the generous cock invading it. The member sliding in and out of Alex's lips pushed the dirtiest gags out of him, his fingers fastened into Miles’ rolling hips. 

The drenched member poured from Alex's mouth as he sucked in an ignored breath. Before he could bestow any more, Alex was being summoned by the sweaty hands fastening to his flushed cheeks, pulling him up for a cherishing  kiss. Miles groaned into the taste of himself, pulling off from the deeper indulgences to simply swipe his tongue along Alex’ lips.

Alex pulled Miles in close, cheek by cheek when he murmured; “want you.” The tone so honest he couldn't recognise himself. It did the trick -  Miles locked his hands to Alex’s waist, gently driving him against his back once more. Slipping between the man’s knees, Miles’s hands pressed to the mattress either side of Alex’s shoulders. Alex’s eyes flicked to a point behind Miles, “t-top draw.” He uttered breathlessly, his sight pointing in the direction of his dresser. 

Miles wasted no time in climbing up the bed to retrieve the desired help, the bed springs squeaking as his breath moved further and further away. 

Alex pressed his eyes shut, the complete state of his nudity wrapping a fitting red around his cheeks as he welcomed the pulse Miles had caused - the rush of Kane bounding through him. 

When Alex opened his eyes next the lengthy body was kneeling between his thighs, popping the lubricant’s cap before lathering himself in the substance, then administering the same healthy dose to Alex’ opening - his fingers slipping past that hugging pucker. “Oh, _fucking_...Christ…” he gritted, tensing his fingers around the linen under him. Extracting his digits, Miles settled where he needed to be - those fixed legs widening for him. 

Alex gave a small nod in affirmation once Miles had aligned himself accordingly, the anticipation stinging them as Alex finally felt Miles entering him.

The scouser’s face had modelled to an aroused fascination, letting out sharp breaths as he sunk himself deeper inside, the snug heat welcoming him - _wanting_ him there as he groaned patiently around heavy exhales. 

The invasion was beyond Alex, "f-fuckin’ ‘ell.” He acclaimed thinly, face heating as his senses caught up with what was happening. Alex was soon reaching up for his lover, their mouths resuming their wet, heated conquest as that need up-scaled, Miles hummed against Alex’s tongue, their eager mouths moving in unison as their noses brushed and saliva swapped. Soon the touch felt like an emergency, like reaching for oxygen or flooring it before the big stunt.

Their skin quickly locked into anatomical duet, their rolling movements shared before the kiss was broken and Alex shut his eyes - a wave of pleasure overtaking him. Alex sighed blissfully as Miles’s mouth united with his jaw wantonly, smooching the bone in a trance of sexual famine. When he let off Alex’s neck he smiled gently down at him, both readily electrifying abandoned outlets. 

 

2

Miles gently cards his fingers through Alex’s hair, taking in the warmth of each breath blown against his chest, their bare bodies pressed together like wax.

He felt Alex stir, his long, drawn out breaths picked up its pace. “Shit…” Alex grumbled against the torso under him, “did I fall asleep?” He asked in a gruff, sleepy tone, flicking his eyes up at Miles. He slowly blinked down at the man weeded to his own regrouping body, savouring the sweet sensitivity in having Alex so close to him, lounging in that naked, skin on skin way.

 “Both did.” He softly chuckled, smiling as a welcome back to consciousness. The slighter man smiled back, just as lightly, just as drunkenly. “I…” He breathed, his eyes washing over Miles - the sweet, honey-like tone to his skin, up his neck to the sharp transfer of his chin. His thin, adventurous lips - the precious dip in cupid’s bow, the uplift to his delicate nose and the eyes that were probably analysing Alex in a similar way. 

“I...I can’t word this.” Alex told him in a reed-thin whisper, trying not to melt into the sheets with how Miles’s fingers brushed along his back. Miles’s lips curled at the sides, the visual setting Alex’ soul alight. “Can’t word wot?” He hummed, marvelled by that weight over him - Alex’s chest to his, their hottest places fussed.

Alex narrowed his eyes, thinking on it as he bit his bottom lip. He watched Miles’s smirk crack into a small grin, “you...” he began in a whisper, sighing, “me…” he continued, fringe spilling as he shook his head slightly, as if still catching up - part of him still wondered if Miles hadn't simply tripped and fallen into him.

“S'pose unspoken will be our kink?” Miles wondered jokingly, turning and lowering his head to the pillow, resting it there as he watched Alex, smirking down at him. “Righ’,” the boy humoured, “cause that worked out _so_ well for us in the past.” They both giggled to this, their chests vibrating against each other. Alex sighed once more, turning away as he pressed his temple to Miles’s chest, letting his eyes slip shut again. 

He’d be happy to leave it like this - a life within the confines on a body wrapped in Miles.

Alex had actually begun believing the man’s ‘unspoken theory’ as they were both momentarily entrapped in a sweet beat of silence - well, not silence at all; the pulse under him, the pull of breath, the sound of contemplation, all lulling him into a certain head space.

Miles’s fingers continued their thread through his hair, he hummed softly into the sensation tracing his scalp, his eyelids lifted open. Facing away from Miles, Alex noted the pale singlet hanging from his dresser across the room - it was Miles’s - he distinctly remembered watching him delete it from his body. For a moment the sight warned his chest, a warm emotion spilling behind his ribs - but it was short lived. Soon a monstrous correlation sneaked its way into his mind, revealing a parallel he couldn't overlook.

How long had it been since the same scene had appeared before him? In a much darker bedroom, with a much different man against his own spent body. The interaction between such opposite people bit into Alex’s conscience, the connection came with its own dose of guilt for not having been honest with Miles. 

He’d touched Miles, let Miles touch _him_. Felt every angle Miles would give him in exchange for the secrets hidden in his own body. Tasted him - all of him - his skin, the salt of his sweat, the moisture of his mouth, right to the part that ended it all in a hot, white finish. 

He couldn’t tell him. Not now. 

The blurting sound of Alex’s ringtone popped his bubble of self-deprecation, the alert causing them both to jump in their naked liaison. Alex lifted his head, his sleep-fogged eyes scanning his room for the ungodly device hailing him. Spotting his vibrating mobile, Alex unwound himself from the wonder of Miles and nakedly crawled up the bed. 

Settling on the edge of the mattress with his back to Miles, Alex reached for the buzzing device over the nightstand. “H-hullo?” He croaked, sounding a bit more irritated than he’d planned. He blinked his eyes awake and when he spotted one p.m. on his alarm they widened. 

“Hey,” Matt greeted casually, oblivious to the fact that Alex had only just truly woken up. The sound of Mathew’s voice relieved the knot of anxiety he hadn’t realized he’d spun. “Joost wonderin’ if you wanted me to bring anything for tonight’?” 

Once more Alex’s eyes widened, accompanied by a twist in his gut as he directed his attention to Miles - laying on his stomach staring at Alex’s back -  as if he were aware of the plan he and the lad’s had made. Alex swallowed, “oh, righ’, y-yeah…” he mumbled, his mind tracking his itself down. Why had he forgotten this? Then he glanced over Miles’s nudity - thinking how lucky he was to even remember his name after last night.

 He heard Matt breath a sigh into the phone, “you forgot didn’t ye?” Instinctively, Alex shook his head, as if Matt were sitting across from him. He cleared his throat and guilt away, “n-no, no I - I didn’t forget.” He lied, his tone even implying offense over Mathew‘s assumption. It was then that Alex felt the bed dipping as Miles climbed up the bed to him, the sheets sunk behind him as the Scouser rested his chin over Alex’s shoulder, the warmth of his body threatening to give him away.

Alex’s eyes swept shut and he pulled the plump mount of his bottom lip between ennerved teeth. He mindlessly let a small hum slip out, the breach causing him to sit up straighter and attempt to shrug Miles off gently. He could feel the other lad smiling against his skin, Alex pursed his lips and let out a small huff in amusement. “Alex? You still there?” Mathew prodded, “is tonight still good?” 

“I - yes, yeah, erm…” he rolled one shoulder to demonstrate to Miles that this wasn’t a good time, he received a playful bite to the plane of his arm between his shoulder and elbow, he cracked a sound resembling a snort, using his free hand to shove Miles away. He gave him a look, a particularly pointed one that he hoped said; ‘ _are you kidding me with this right now_?’ Miles rolled over with a defeated giggle, Alex bit his lip, “what...um...what time?” He asked, half-heartedly listening to Matt’s response as his eyes were once more drawn to Miles. He was shuffling into his pants, rotating to draw the window blinds. The light poured into his room, leaving nothing to the imagination - the tortured bed sheets, the littered garments over the floor, the empty bottle of lube at Alex’ feet. 

“...Sounds good Matt, Jamie and Nick too, yeah?” He watched Miles gently flicking through his disorganized stack of records, realising he hadn’t touched any Cohen since the last time they fell asleep, face first over the desk together. 

Once Mathew confirmed that the other monkeys would join in, Alex answered his original question, that he didn’t need to bring anything. “Alreigh’, see ya Al.” The drummer concluded, Alex’s eyes removed from Miles and turned back to 1:12 over the sad clock, “see you Matt.” He said, sounding a lot less bothered than when he’d answered. The performance drained from Alex as he shut his phone off and placed it back atop his nightstand. 

He let out a broad, heaving sigh as he flopped against the mattress, his sights attaching to the pale ceiling. He closed his eyelids, the morning light shining a red through them. Alex heard the crackle of upcoming composition coming from his turning table, he kept his eyes shut, letting The Rise of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars course through his senses. He hadn’t listened to this one since before Julian.

“Dinner plans?” He heard over Five Year’s first verse, he nodded his head with a tired yawn - how long had they gone at it? “Tonight” Alex verified, “be my date?” He offered teasingly, cracking his eyes in an overexposed blink. He turned his head where he lay as he felt Miles mounting the bed, settling next to Alex on his stomach. He was solely in his navy plaid pajamas, his bare chest breathing softly as he peered down at Alex. “How’s that word-search coming?” He smiled, brushing the hair over Alex’s eyes behind his ear. The man on his back frowned slightly up at him - the sensation of having his hair tucked by Miles ringing through him - “wot?” He asked quizzically, stroking the man’s back with his fingers in slow movements. Miles turned his head to the side, studying Alex like a curious bird. “You know,” he smirked, kissing Alex’ palm when he brought it up to Miles face to return the favour of a bang-free eyesight. “Wot you said - wording us...wording me.” He continued, his light brown lashes sweeping over his hazel eyes. 

Alex knew better than to believe in the things he felt. But with each caress, each look, each word Miles gave him - he felt each insecurity inside him expire. Alex pursed his lips in repression of a smile, he hummed in theatrical thought, “synonyms for Miles Kane…” he wondered in an innocent tease, “...sneaky,” Alex began, the description let out as thoughtlessly as breath. Miles bit his lip and the weight of undivided attention dawned on the slighter man. 

_Sneaky._

Stealthy, perhaps was what he’d meant. When really, sneaky was a shield, a barricade for the things Alex really felt - the _words_ he felt - all coursing through his mind. How unknowable his mind and the organ in his chest felt within this impossible enclosure of want.

The thoughts doming Alex’s head like a space helmet vanished when Miles giggled, his shoulders lifting as his shaggy head of hair hung. “I dunno if I like sneaky,” he chuckled, Alex turned his head to Miles and smiled softly. “...Tempting, then.” He breathed, knowing exactly what the word would trigger as he looked up at Miles through his lashes. Just as predicted, the man above Alex’s nudity raised his brows, as if to encourage him to continue this thought. “Tempting?” He chimed gently, the echo drawing attention to something brewing inside him. Alex let out a small whimper when Miles’s hand settled over his sunken stomach just as it had last night, the touch on the more relaxed side of their relationship’s spectrum. Now that the tension of the unknown had been relieved, Alex felt they were free to play. To explore without the preservation of an untouched experience, however, with this Alex knew Miles’s surprises were ceaseless. 

Miles hand, as if of its own volition - it’s own desires - wrapped around Alex’s cock. The body attached stiffened and when Miles’s eyes floated up Alex’s anatomy to meet his eyes, he found reserve in them. 

Miles couldn’t know that with each second that passed in his company, the guilt of Alex’s treachery dug him into a grave of misery.

“Miles…” he sighed, “the lads’ll be ‘ere in four hours an’ I haven’t even-” Miles began pumping Alex without warning or another moment of suspense. The boy in his hold gasped, physically jolting forward before sinking back down. “Jesusfuckingchrist.” He cursed on exhale, using the lump in his throat to plug his moans down. 

Miles grinned and watched Alex fight the noises his body wanted to release - combating those sounds with the mean glare he shot Miles. “M-muh-Miles, we c-can’t - oh fu-uck…” he squeezed his eyes and screwed his hands into the sheets under him. Miles shushed him tenderly, however it was laced in a dangerous tone of patronization - one Alex knew would definitely have pissed him off were he not approaching the brink of coming all over Miles’ ungraspable hands. 

“It’s all on you Alex.” He breathed, leaning into Alex’s space, kissing the place between his earlobe and jaw, “the second you come we can get to work, I’ll be your lil helper if you want?” Alex’s mind absently filled with recipes, he could do penne pasta, he had the ingredients- Alex interrupted his thoughts with a straining moan, throwing his head back. “Fu-uck you.” Alex punctured viciously, a sense of deja vu coming over him. For a moment Alex feared he might have crossed a line in what he’d moaned angrily, he’d meant it in the spirit of sexual conquest  but perhaps more had changed than he’d thought. 

Alex’s suspense was popped when, accompainied by a frenzied look, Miles let out a passionate groan, “fuck you back.” He spat, bowing to suck at Alex’s throat. The victim choked on a sob, his bedroom filling with his incriminating cries. 

“Let it out Alex, babe.” Miles told him, “come Alex, come for me.” He was panting too now.

God, it all felt so exposed, so uncovered. The cover of four a.m. had given them a certain preservation, or perhaps it was simply the rushed experience of their first time together. Focused so entirely and so completely on every external happening that nothing was singular  - everything was included and nothing separate. 

So with all eyes - _Miles’s_ eyes - on Alex, his chest pummelled madly with excitement. That, along with those calloused hands and the hot breath over his neck - how could he not come?

The crism of Alex’s climax was accompanied by a chain of curses, praises, and growled rope of insults aimed at Miles - who, for his part took them like a champ - moaning and agreeing with Alex in some sort of a heated spat. “That’s righ’,” he’d say, “look at that…” referring so obviously to the fluid coating his knuckles.

The track ended, and the space containing this new silence was filled with pants as Alex attempted to grasp reality once more. “Fucking christ…” commended on exhale, running a hand through his sweaty, disheveled hair. “That...that was-” Miles sealed the unfinished sentiment with his mouth, melting Alex with it’s adoration, or some other flavour of the kind. 

 

3

“You got quite the mouth, Turner.” Miles purred, pressing his lips to Alex’s collar bone. The boy laughed into it, understanding his meaning completely. Alex sat up, groaning when he felt the sensitivity of his lower regions. Miles just rolled onto his back, looking up at Alex as he held his slicked hand up to his mouth, admiring the substance before cleaning it away with his tongue. 

“Fuck…” Alex murmured under his breath as he watched Miles swallowing him, the Scouse smirked up at him, “I’m gonna wash up, flip the record will ya?” He said, pressing up onto his elbows to kiss Alex’s cheek, slipping off the mattress before moving towards Alex’s ensuite. 

“W-wot about helping me with dinner?” He protested grumpily, “or were that joost so you could ‘ave yer way with me?” He’d tried to sound comedically sly, but the smile he couldn’t force away spoiled is facade. 

Miles laughed from where he filled the bathroom’s door frame, “of _course_ not.” He said, perfecting the tone Alex had hoped to have projected, “I - _we_ \- are showering,” he corrected, eyeing Alex pointedly, “wash last night off-” he began before Alex hastily told him: “I don’t _wanna_ wash off last night.” To which Miles chuckled and nodded, “I know laa,” the name rolling out without any sense of displacement. Alex smiled at the memory and the one they were currently spinning, and moved to turn the record around. He heard Miles shuffling around the draws as he tinkered, presumably in search of a towel, “but do you really wanna smell like we fucked all night around the lads?” 

Alex groaned, “ _alright_ , alright.” He conceded, placing the stylus over the first vinyl groove, the crackle departing as Bowie took over. 

The sound of the shower was Alex’s que. Closing the turning table’s dust cover, Alex followed the sound of Miles singing along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> went back to edit bc of ocd :)))))))


	13. to the romans, Miles Kane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> better to not read into it

1

“Alex?” Miles uttered around the steamy fumes of paprika, the aroma filling Alex’s kitchen along with Sinatra.

“Yeah?” Alex replied, his eyes flicking to the clock, relieved to find the two were doing well for time. His back was to Miles from where he chopped spinach over the counter, however this didn't prevent Alex from catching the evident meekness to the lad’s voice. 

“How come you haven’t....” Miles began, starting the sentence with a clear determination to get through it as quick as possible. But then he’d paused, the chicken sizzling over the scolding pan below him. Alex caught a glimpse of Miles’s troubled expression when he glanced over his shoulder, “how come I haven’t?” he prodded, tossing the leafy greens into a bowl before fetching the tomatoes from the fridge.

“How come you haven’t...been playing?” He finally breached, and then - as if someone told him he'd needed to - attached a reason for his prying: “it’s joost, you know, those guitars are beggin' for some attention.” As that innocent observation developed, Alex easily recalled the myriad that hung in Miles’s temporary guest room, which wasn't really a guest room at all. Rather a treasure chest in which Alex hid the items he couldn't deal with. 

Had Miles honestly once qualified into said category?

“Oh, uh…” his mind considered the truth - which he’d spent a painful amount of time concealing - and some easy, digestible lie, deciding which he’d offer. “I’m...on a kind of break.” He admitted, the little truth not even chipping away the slightest to his grand fabrication. Though really, this 'break' wasn't a reason, but a symptom of a much greater avoidance. He didn't play, because he couldn't. Because the moment Alex envisioned a guitar it was Julian's arms around it.  He squeezed his eyes, trying to push everything down. Feel something large enough to sponge everything else up. 

He let his eyes search for Miles reaction between his dicing of the red fruit. He spotted a lad deep in thought, he looked stunning. Their entire day had been cloudy. 

Miles. His name whirl-pooled Alex’s head like a low halo, a tide, orbiting his temples in a euphoric, cosmic ring. Miles.

“Guess we all need those sometimes.” He replied as in the original explanation, his tone’s empathetic volume rang through Alex’s chest, he hoped his silence would convey his desire to drop the subject. Miles read him - far better than the chicken stock directions - and left it, though leave Alex it did not.

2

A few hours later and Alex is seated directly across from this figment. The ghost who isn't a ghost at all, except for when he’s in Alex’s head. 

Miles’s skin contained a lingering flush from the stove, not unlike after they’d fucked last night. His flesh encapsulated everything it endured. His throat was clear, the top buttons of his dress shirt offering dares from across the table. Alex regretted not having left something there himself. Not as proof that they were something other than fiction now, but to have been an event as well, that had - like the stove and orgasm - marked that impressionable, impossible skin. 

Matt was speaking with Miles, from what Alex could hear over Nick’s voice, about...God, he didn’t care what he was saying, just wanted to watch him saying it. Did that make Alex an insensitive dick? For, in this moment, seeing Miles as his secret-but not-really-secret eye candy? Watch his eyes that were just a little too far away from Alex, his expressions adjusting to Matt’s banter, adding his own golden additions. The way his smile lit or didn't, the short nods he’d offer before downing a dose of dry white. This time his eyes catch Alex’s on him. He knows exactly what the boy is thinking. Alex can draw this conclusion by how he too had felt the scouser’s eyes on him, between punchlines and bites of their dinner that they both knew had blown the lads away.

 

“Well, aren’t you two quite the spectacle tonight?” Alex looked at Jamie with an expression akin to offense, he just blinked back to the task at hand, not needing to ask what his friend had meant - neither were so thick. Alex, selfishly and secretively, didn’t like the idea of Miles being anyone’s business but his. The inner confession spilt another vessel of guilt through him, but what else was new?

When Alex didn’t respond, eyes fixed to the plates he and Jamie scraped at the counter, his friend attempted another route. “He met yer parents yet?” 

Alex shook his head, “too early.” He decided, the idea of such a thing happening felt so incredibly far from him - like he’d never have to actually give any thought to it. Miles wouldn’t meet Alex’s parents. He wasn’t sure what the answer for that was, much less why he felt this way- god, he couldn’t fall into that now.

“I like him, Alex.” Jamie said gently, beginning to load the dishwasher. It felt unpleasant to hear - because he was _still_ lying to them. Because the man they spoke of, currently laughing with Matt and Nick like men from an ad - men far too happy to be real - was _also_ being lied to. “Me too.” Alex settled on after a moment, then he sighed, “thanks, Jamie.” He passed a grubby plate to his friend as the machine grew fuller and fuller.

“For what?” He asked, knowing geniusly that Alex hadn’t just meant the help with clean up. He thought about it, “seeing through me, without...being a dick about it.” He chuckled as he shook his head, "not a lot of people are capable of that.” Jamie laughed through his smiling mouth, closing the washer before Alex put in the commands. “Everyone’s transparent when they’re in love, mate.” The lad chidded, pulling his friend in for a one armed hug that Alex enjoyed despite Jamie’s stinging comment.

3

After goodbyes and promises to do this again, the lads filed out, all one glass short of pissed. Did they want Alex to call them a cab? “We’re drunk, not incompetent. Besides,” Nick giggled, “m’sure you two have _better_ things to do.” Raising his eyebrows for the last sentiment, the implication sending him into a pathetic fit of cackles. Matt rolled his eyes, taking the inebriated git under his arm as Jamie held the door open.

“Talk soon.” Matt called over his shoulder, and Alex hoped they would. He had wanted a moment alone with his friend, but the more he regretted not having had the chance, the more Alex realised he would have had nothing to say - nothing he would have permitted himself to share.

_‘Matt. Miles and I slept together. Matt. I’ve checked out of reality.’_

God, what had Miles _done_ to him? He was poisonous, had infected Alex. When had this happened? Was it last night, when he’d come inside Alex? Or perhaps back at that bar, on the very first night, when he’d been used as a human shield. Protecting Alex whether he’d sign up for it or not.

“We should get our story straight,” Miles chuckled as he shut the front door, “for when they don’t turn up tomorrow morning.” Alex giggled and nodded, enjoying the poke at the guys' wobbly states. He moved back in the direction of the dining table, clearing the salt and pepper as well as the single pillar candle. Alex was about to ask Miles to clear the glasses he and Jamie had missed, setting his items over the counter as he then moved in front of the sink. But before such a request could be made, the stun of feeling Miles’s body behind him knocked the words out of Alex.

He stared into the soapy dishwater that the utensils swam in, the grey colouring sinking into Alex’s eyes as the heat from behind hypnotized him.  He knew precisely what Miles was thinking: _better give the poor guy what he’s been thinking about all evening._

And he’d be right, but Alex wasn’t alone. He’d read the evident rsvp in Miles’s lingering glimpses throughout dinner, which Alex had answered even further with his fatuous lip biting and batted  lashes. 

“What you playing at?” Miles purred against him, his hands baring Alex’s hips. The contact spun a cushioned dart inside his sternum, like his favourite anxiety. “Could ask you the same.” Alex breathed coolly. He imagined letting his head hang back now. Would it land on Miles’s shoulder? He pictured his hands letting off from where they currently clutched the sink’s edge, with nothing holding him up, Miles would have to. That felt so good to think about. Instead he slinks out of the taller man’s hold, ducking out from that warmth to collect the remaining glasses over the dining table.

He balanced them between his fingers, and let his eyes sweep shut in an inhale, the memory of Miles’s fingers rubbing into his waist weakening Alex’s body. Why was he denying himself this? He was spoiling it. 

Alex, with his back to Miles as he’d done so in collecting the dirty beakers, put them down in an indiscreet _clank_. He rotated, finding he’d successfully caught the other man’s attention. Miles’s head perked from where he rinsed at the sink, eyes fastened to Alex’s, lighting as the slighter pulled himself unto the dining table - opening his legs, brows raised in a suggestion. Leaving little room for Miles’s imagination.

“Hey, Mi?” Alex hummed, the coo filling their distance, invitation lacing his lips. Miles’s hands appeared suspended under the soapy water, along with the rest of his paused existence. “Ye-yes?” He stuttered, eyes raking over Alex’s body - his face that was cruel in it’s innocence, his chest that rose and fell behind the crisp dress shirt, his thighs, hips, legs that hung from the table’s edge in askanse.

“Come ‘ere?” He chimed sweetly, placing two hands behind as he upheld himself. His heart stormed behind his chest, even his kidneys raced as he watched Miles hastily dry his hands, borderline racing over to him. Alex bit his lip to keep from smiling too hard, he kept his palms flat against the table cloth, inviting Miles between his thighs with his not-so encrypted body language. 

“You’re...” Miles exhaled, settling between the other’s legs. His hands finding what they could of Alex’s arse that was pressed against the expanse under him. The boy pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, “I’m?” He hummed, locking his arms around Miles’s shoulders. The man looming above Alex pursed his lips, “you’re a _tease_ , Alex Turner.” He smirked cutely, bringing his hands to Alex’s waist. The man in his hold scoffed, linking his legs around the small of Miles’s back, “we talking dirty now?” He ventured with a rise of brows, pursing his lips around a small giggle. 

Now it was Miles turn to scoff, “please,” he teased, “you couldn’t handle it.” He leaned in, closing his lips around Alex’s neck. The boy sighed into this, his hands weeding through Miles’s hair, applying just the right force of pressure to demonstrate his liking for this. “T-try me…” Alex stuttered, not one bit surprised by the air Miles had pulled from his lungs. The man in mind unlatched from the throat he kissed, pressing a firm one to Alex’s jaw before he straightened up. The scouser sighed, running a hand through Alex’s hair, along the side where it was tucked behind his ear. “Well, let’s see…” he murmured in a tone so quiet it might as well have been screamed. “Last time I got you off, I recall the words, and I quote - ‘fuck you.’” 

Alex squeezed his eyes shut and nodded his head shamefully, “I know, I know, I just-” but Miles hand - his perfect hand - interrupted Alex as it clasped the firmness between his thighs. He gasped, his half-hearted apology hitting the road as Miles’s thumb made horrible circles over the trouser’s cotton. His eyebrows pushed forward and lips pursed in an aroused inhale. As he pushed the breath out, Alex was quickly sucking one back down as Miles pulled him in, cheek to cheek.

“Yer so spoiled.” He growled, one hand supporting Alex’s waist as the other clutched his growing erection. He flicked his eyes over Alex, “an’ you know it.”

Alex hissed, the sound fading into a groan as he frowned at Miles. His snark spun through Alex in a juvenile wave of excitement. His seemingly boneless hand found the tent between Miles's legs, giving the hard bulge a press before humming. Miles sucked in a smiling breath, "beautiful brat..." he snarled quietly, feeling Alex's hand over him.

“Takes one to know one.” Alex whispered lowly, leaning in, “don’t pretend you weren’t thinking ‘bout it all evening…” A tinge of cruelty, an almost patronizing tone that only proved the other man’s point. Miles made him a brat.

“Someone needs to learn when to shut their mouth.” It was obvious Miles was fighting not to break character - his cheeks begging to lift in a laugh, just as Alex’s were.

The slighter sighed, a sound of repressed laughter escaping as he came in close, “maybe you should teach me.” He smirked with a coy shrug, using his locked legs to urge Miles’s into his split limbs. This was so good, this was heaven - a sinful, corrupted, unconventional heaven. And Alex believed in it. Maybe he was more religious than he’d thought.

“Maybe I should.” Miles nodded, “do you want that, Alex?” He’d slipped into the role well, Alex imagined him in a knitted vest and circular glasses behind a wooden desk, asking Mr Turner to please turn to page twenty-six. Then he would have to tell Miles he couldn’t because concentration was no longer a concept if Kane entered the equation.

“I don’t think it’s a want...” Alex toyed, “I think it’s a _need_.” He bit his nether lip, peering up through his dark lashes. Miles pushed out a sharp breath before detaching from Alex, pulling him off the table before whipping his body around so that his chest pressed into the hard mahogany. Alex sputtered around erratic, involuntary moans, his hands by his head as he was effectively bent over the furniture.

“I’m getting lube. Move, and I throw it out.” Miles warned, the threat only digging further into Alex’s anticipation. The idea of Miles’s hands on him spilt through Alex like liquid over stone. “Yes?” Miles pressed, “ _yes.”_ Alex moaned with teasing annoyance, rolling his eyes as he heard Miles’s loafers moving down the hall.

The moment he was alone the knot came to accompany Alex. Right where the conversation with Jamie had left it, the guilt - this word was becoming nothing - engulfed his gut. His entire body was against him in this mental argument, he wished he could just dislocate his conscious. All Alex could offer his morals was the feeling that shot through him when Miles looked at him, that was his case, his evidence that he wasn’t a complete bastard for keeping his night with Julian away from Miles. Alex recalled a poster he’d read as he awaited this therapist: _three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth._

Alex was too committed to pessimism to be Buddhist, but the phrase chilled through him all the same. Honesty was especially difficult when one knew it’s repercussions, to go in knowing what the result would inevitably be. Did that make one brave or stupid?

“Hey, sorry to break character, but I just realised we completely forgot desert.” The notification of Miles’s voice lassoed Alex’s pity party, ripping him out of himself. He peered over his shoulder, spotting Miles who held the lubricant bottle, opening the oven to inspect their cake, “more for us, I guess.”  

“Yeah…” Alex said absently, looking at the floor as he still felt flakes of his worries sticking to him. Some things are a little too impossible to live with.

“You all right?” Miles asked, closing the oven’s door before he moved back over. His face was full of the same apathy that had been bread-crumbed through their entire adventure - their scheme that Alex now felt only he was in on. Would they even talk about this? Clarify what their understanding had become?

“Yeah,” Alex verified, blinking his eyes into a larger, more awake size, “yeah, f’course.”  As Miles neared him, Alex smiled with a forced motive:  _Please let this convince him I’m okay._

“Daddy gonna teach me a lesson, aye?” Alex hummed, giggling under his readjusted breath as he flicked his eyebrows up at Miles. 

“Jesus, who _are_ you?” Miles laughed, popping the cap open - his zipper untouched - perhaps as a way of tasking his hands in distraction. Was it possible that Alex wasn’t the only one rippled by his anxiety? 

“I’m gone a minute and now yer a proper twink.” Miles giggled, setting the pink bottle over the dining table before reaching for Alex’s fly. The man under Miles’s burning scrutiny sunk his fangs through his swollen lips, the anticipation pushing a huffed breath out - the exhale’s pitch a cocktail giggled agreement and the simple, recognizable key of aroused. “I like you and porn terminology.” Alex smirked from where Miles couldn’t see him, his cheeks stinging from suppressed cackles. 

He felt his trousers caress his legs as they fell to the floor, leaving only his boxers that held onto his hips for dear life.

“S’not ‘porn termanology’-” Miles began correcting, his defence easily butted in by Alex’s impatient whining; “whatever you say officer Kane, just, get on with it.” He could tell Miles was biting back a commending chuckle, but rather appreciated his commitment to their thrumming prolepsis, the jump-scare of his touch seemed seconds away - and then, there it was. 

Creasing his face in pleasure as Miles reached through Alex’s proverbially barb-wired jocks, fondling him just as he had this morning to Bowie and the morning sun. Alex moaned in a rich, throaty frequency that drilled into the flat’s silence. “Fuck, y-yes, _uh_ …” Alex choked out, not unlike the sounds one might make when being tortured.

The fist manhandling him drove a steady rhythm, Alex's hips bucked involuntarily, bone pushing into the dining table’s rounded edge. He bared his teeth, holding his breath from time to time - as if rejecting air would make more room for his... pleasure…”Muh-Miles - uh, fu-uck…” Alex hoped he could hear him, and not things he was thinking. Talking when being jerked off held the same use as one running in a dream, he was afraid he couldn't move. “You okay?” Miles panted, his voice resembling the one Alex got if he kept his mouth shut for too long. As if the tension between Miles’s legs had injured his voice. He sounded passionately psychotic. 

“Choke me.” Alex gasped, the plea cast a rouge across Alex’s already flushed face. _Great, now he thinks I’m a proper lunatic._

“Tell me if I’m being too hard.” Miles huffed immediately, his fingers finding the curve of Alex’s throat. It took the boy by surprise, slipping his eyes shut as he felt the mature limb lightly locking him. He gulped under the hand around his neck, hearing himself breath in that wonderful strain. 

“Wait, have - have you...done this before?” Miles suddenly asked while doing nothing to loosen his grip on neither Alex’s throat or dick. The man under this paired containment opened his eyelids, they felt as though they’d never been lifted. He blinked at the room across from him, the front door in particular - recalling the statement Nick had made, and Jamie’s brief spiel on transparency. 

“Sometimes.” He relayed on exhale, “when I’m getting myself off.” He bit his lip nervously, feeling a mite exposed - the literal lack of pants aside for a moment.

Miles made a noise, one somewhere between intrigued and impressed. And then, without warning removed his hands - _both_. Alex felt his stomach drop and self-consciousness spike. Without Miles’s touch he felt senseless, he felt as if the limbs no longer holding him were his own amputated parts. Alex swivelled, the blend of disoriented lust and admitted timidity cloaking his composure. Before he could check Miles’s plans however, his hips were once more grabbed - this time lifted up, his body slamming over dining table. 

He gasped, “jesusfuckingchristMiles!” Alex sputtered in a stroke of delighted surprise, looking down to realise his fucking shoes were still there, the sight was funny but the fact that they were being so careless only turned him on further.

Before Alex could assess what was driving the other man, Miles's tongue was slipping past Alex’s teeth greedily, feisty hands going for the boxer’s waistband. Alex helped, wiggling awkwardly out of them as Miles detached, sliding the rolling underwear down Alex’s legs. The boy could hear his own ragged breathing, his legs - as if programmed to - wrapped Miles’s hips, pulling him in. 

Intervening Alex’s lovely thighs - that were pale and full and curing  - Miles held Alex’s cock in place as he leaned in, snogging the other's throat - perhaps as an anaesthesia for what was to come. Alex sucked a breath in and sighed into the neck-raid, “yer so good…” Alex heard himself murmur, his body clinging to Miles's torso - he realised his uncanny resemblance to a passion-fruit vine. 

“You’re fucking unreal.” Miles gritted, uniting is mouth with Alex’s in a rather sloppy smooch. The warmth of Miles made Alex’s tongue tingle and his entire mouth no longer felt like his property, he moaned when Miles's hand found his neck once more. Alex's body was riddled with delicious alarm, Miles was doing this - it felt like a conversion - Miles was turning him rogue.

Miles made Alex rogue.

Said influencer let off his neck, rediscovering the lube which have been knocked over - their less-than tame embracing to blame. He pushed a shuddering breath out, and his slacks down, stepping out of them before he got a hand on his demanding erection. Alex was so in need of it - to feel that solid muscle on his tongue, to remind himself of the weight of Miles’s cock. But an idiot could see than Miles was beyond foreplay, beyond waiting, beyond his hunger.

Alex felt his body go limp as he watched Miles lather himself in the gel-like liquid, the transparent wetness dripping down his shaft, dampening his balls which Alex also wanted inside him. Soon the cool substance hit Alex’s hot opening and what was that thing that happened when hot and cold mix?

Miles didn’t prep him. And Alex didn’t correct him. “Put your arms ‘round me.” Miles breathed, eyes remaining where he directed his cock. Alex obeyed keenly, twining to limbs around his conqueror as he held his breath. 

Miles pushed into him and even Alex felt how tight he was, that clench daring Miles to invade it. His face, when Alex lifted his dazed eyes to look at him, was contoured to a model of agonizing pleasure. Alex’s sight was once more on the scene they were creating by joining each other in an insane way. “Fuck yes…” Alex groaned quietly, watching the shaft’s thick, pink head disappear, stunned as he watched Miles sink deeper and nearer.

“ _God.”_  The tallest man moaned weakly, “you’re so fucking - _uh_ …” He lost himself in the music of Alex’s breathing and in-pained moans, only returning to reality when he felt Alex’s fingers lacing his hair. “Spoiled?” Alex tested sharply, jerking his hips forward in a punishing motion. “Ah - _fuck_ ing hell!” Miles hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as Alex’s fingers fell to cup a cheek. “Yes.” The thruster bit, glaring at Alex, an angry smirk tugging at one side of his mouth. “But I love it.” Miles exhaled as he eased out, Alex had no time to process what had been said - or admitted? - as Miles snapped back into his body in a single, unkind thrust.

His motions increased in both speed and ferocity, his thighs hitting the table edge in a nice kind of pain, feeling Alex’s strong legs squeezing around his waist as the boy let out high sounds. Miles drove deeper and deeper into Alex, the table banging as hard as they were, the glasses Alex left unattended rattled, and it felt as though Miles was simply helping Alex rearrange furniture. “Gunna come.” Miles had hissed after a thirsty round of coring up-shots, the announcement panging like music through Alex’s pulse-filled ears. His bum was cramping up, and if he was honest, he’d been desperately trying not to come for a while now. “Fucking come, baby.” He pleaded, wondering if the last part was aloud. Was Miles his to call 'baby'? 

The final few collision of hips sent more than one wineglass to the floor, smashing into its traumatized fragments. “Shit - sorry!” Miles groaned, stilling his conquest to spot the glass puddle below them, Alex dug his nails into the other’s shoulders, “don’t you fucking stop!” He snapped violently, moaning to the beat thrumming out of Miles’s skin and through his own muscle. Miles sucked up his manners and resumed his animal nature, bringing them both to a concurrent climax in a beautifully short amount of time. 

 

They’d come close to together - Alex first, dampening Miles’s sweaty hand in the sticky chrism. But Miles had come hard, and long. The sounds he’d choked would forever haunt Alex, at least, he hoped they would. The man had collapsed over him, Alex holding Miles tight as he felt himself filling up. Alex’s breath is under Miles, the heavy body that he finds himself devoted to draped over his chest. He had the feeling his mind would write this off as too devastating not to repress. So he supposed soon he’d forget, but that could be apart of what drove one to come back for more. 

But still that turmoil overrides his orgasm, his brain determined to remind Alex how sickening his reality outside of penetration was. He could pretend it isn't there - the bad stuff, the weight. Throw that crippling fear of being found out away. Then, once Alex had curbed the shit - or convinced himself he had - he’d be left with happiness. But perhaps then he’d find their really isn’t much of it. And then that entire strategy becomes another something to cast away. And it’s all just layers. Wrapping up every decision he’d ever made. Throw it all away, only to then realise he has nothing to start over with. He’ll go back and track down the discarded, like having accidentally thrown out something worth keeping. Not because he wants it, but because there’s nothing better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty edgy, don't cut yourself.  
> tumblr: yvettecigarette


	14. the pedagogy avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I cannot believe I haven't updtaed in a month. I've been selfishly taking my time with this chapter, I actually hadn't realised how long it'd been, so I was like oh, shit. I hope you enjoy this! Yes, it's long, yes it's angsty, yes it's long! xx

1

Alex just needed that night known and then maybe the world could go on spinning. 

He’d been psyching himself up to spill his treacherous guts all week. Between his and Miles’s lives, their verbally adventurous sex-life and increasingly conjoined existence, there’d been plenty of openings. But of course, all had vanished before courage or the right words had passed Alex’s cognitive traffic.

A worthy example was just this morning; Miles was brushing his teeth - ha - that would’ve been perfect: Miles, literally incapable of responding without first spitting, giving Alex plenty of time to bolt.

People lie, Alex understood that, if only to themselves. But it was as if Julian still held Alex by his hair with this particular deception. He needed to be rid of it, rid of any traces of that man and his effects on Alex. He owed Julian nothing.

Alex was still acclimatising himself to his and miles' newer, unified proximity. 

He fell asleep and awoke wrapped in Miles, the memory of nights slept in separate rooms began fading. Miles’s treasures morphed with Alex’s, clothes shared, records tugged from the other’s possession. These days, with Miles out of the ‘guest room’, and the instruments he couldn’t bring himself to touch inside, Alex avoided the space altogether.

Sometimes his and Miles’s juxtapose would slip Alex’s mind, there was something so imaginary about sitting at the end on his bed, spying past his en suite doors to find a long legged musician brushing his teeth, humming the actual toothpaste jingle. 

He should have told him then. Between sex and speech and everything else, a moment of just being - and what had he done? Let it slip through his butter fingers.

“Christ, sing something else, I _just_ got that shite outta me head.” He’d whined in lieu of sincerity. Miles spun around to him with an jokingly annoyed look, he spat and wiped his mouth, “you watching me brush me teeth, you perv?”

Rolling his eyes, Alex allowed the confession - which had acquired a highly variable nature - to slip away. 

The deceit had now inflamed so exponentially that the entire sentiment had fogged up. Alex couldn’t make out the outline of his guilt any more, it was just abstract worrying.

Some things Alex found so impossible to comprehend, but Miles was by far his favourite puzzle.

Alex can be reminded of this as he studies Miles now: his undivided observation, currently directed towards Alex’s laptop screen. Perched over the coffee table in front, his device sucks in Miles’s attention. The two had expertly, on-the-count-of-three, shuffled the furniture closer to the couch so they might have a better view. 

Every so often Miles would bite his lip in suspense, or bounce his legs where they were crossed under Alex’s outstretched ones. “Are you even watching?” Miles would snap defensively now and then, as if appalled that Alex could worry his mind with anything aside Tarantino. 

“ _Yes_.” He would giggle in response, leaning in to press an apologetic kiss to Miles’ cheek before he redirected his mind.

But he just couldn’t process that mounting anticipation, let alone a movie. Let alone Miles.

When the man in question had initially suggested a movie day, Alex had buckled up, knowing he’d be handed dozens of occasions to fess up. 

And yet, here he sat, half way through Volume II, and Miles was as uninformed as the night Alex had stolen his car to fuck his ex. 

How he regretted not having ripped the band-aid off sooner. He supposed one learned to live with regret. But he also wanted to live with Miles. 

Another half hour of: _now! tell him now!_ Only to be silenced - or rather, drowned - by the sound of anxiety ringing in his ears. 

He tried focusing on the film, internalizing nothing in front of his eyes as Alex’s inner suspense choked him.

He swallowed, god, just fucking do it.

“Mmm...Miles?” He said sheepishly, the conviction of a lamb to slaughter. His palms were beyond sweating, his heart and blood where tuned to the key of panic. 

Miles’s eyes remained on the screen before his brows lifted, as if to indicate his currently occupied attention, “one sec, one sec.” He delayed whisperingly, bracing himself as a girl on screen swung a fucking chain mace. 

Well. He tried. 

“‘Kay, sorrey,” Miles notified in a regular frequency, pausing Lucy Lui’s appalled expression. “Yeah?” He asked, blinking curious eyes at him, and suddenly Alex’s life-long dream had become getting out of this conversation. 

Just the idea of setting this thing free. It stunned him. But it needed doing. 

And what if the result was losing him? How could Alex ever function the same again? 

Suppose one could call that over dramatic. But Miles Kane’s entry into Alex’s life was a spear to the chest and what happened when it left him? Because truly, Miles wasn’t just affection. He wasn’t fluff. Though what does it matter what Miles isn’t when Alex can’t even pin what he _is._

He’d evolve he guessed. He was human, and that was what humans did. But there are always pieces that refuse to be shaken. And what if he lost Miles and even more of himself escaped with the lad? Evolve, maybe he was a different kind of human. 

“I…” Alex’s palette dried. He should understand himself better than anyone. Though his mind’s current relationship between intention and action - verbal action - were quickly changing his mind. “I, I n-need to…” God, he couldn’t even trust his own opposition. All he knew was what he felt. 

“You need to…?” Miles lent the sentence back, smirking at him for reasons beyond Alex. His face was so stunning, how could Alex willingly wreck that? The way Miles looked at him these days, the softer eyes and longer, lingering smiles. God he loved that smile. Honey, that smile was. 

Alex shoved it back, all of it, a million different Alex’s inside him demanding he zip it, but he owed it to Miles. Even if it meant he’d be alone again. 

“Do you,” he inhaled, “do you remember--” 

Perhaps it was the universe’s way of saving Alex’s life, or simply shutting an idiot up: his laptop screen filled with the incoming call. And along the bottom was her contact picture. 

Alex’s heart stopped, then was beating all at once as he sprung up from the couch to decline. “ _Shit, shit, shit_ ,” Alex cursed, pulling the device onto his lap as he sat back down, clicking on what he thought was the ignore icon.

“Alex, you - you just accepted it.” Miles told him confusedly, oblivious to Alex’s anxiety on the matter. 

The boy turned to him nervously, “no I, I hung up.” He explained, returning to the laptop to find his mother’s face filling the screen. “Oh- _fuck-_ ” He snapped, and in one shoving motion, pushed Miles off the couch and out of frame. 

He heard Miles’s body hit the carpet and to his honest surprise, a barking laugh from below. 

Alex stared down at him, frozen for a beat, with a reaction of both mortification for what he’d done, and utter adoration for the way the lad on the ground had taken it. 

“Alex honey, was that Miles?” He heard his Mother ask from his laptop, her tone as sweet as memory recalled. 

Alex - still wide-eyed in response to what he’d done - turned to the laptop face containing his Mother’s, finding his own bewildered one at the bottom. 

He swallowed hard, refusing to look at Miles for sake of composure. “Y-uh-yes,” he cleared his throat, “it was.” His Mother’s lips lifted as her eyes lit, “oh how lovely, get him back.” She requested simply, clearly more than ready to meet her son’s boyfriend. Boyfriend? Boyfriend...

“Um,” he said on exhale, running a hand through his hair, the hair Miles had attempted to wash this morning when he couldn’t lift his arms over his head. Why they’d attempted that position Alex will never know. 

“He - he’s uh,” Alex glanced down at the topic of discussion: his legs crossed as he played with the raggy carpet patiently. Alex’s heart tugged, looking down at Miles like this, another instance wherein Alex simply had to pinch himself. 

He blinked back at his laptop’s screen, “he’s in the loo.” Alex explained, and smiled tightly at his Mother in an attempt to appear genuine. 

Penny simply make a disappointed sound, “you can’t keep him from me forever, sweetheart.” She kidded gently, sighing in a pleasant kind of defeat. Alex huffed out a smiling breath, nodding. “I - I don’t intend to.” He lied, at least, it felt like lying. This infinity of dishonestly was fucking with his mind.

“Ma, I hate to do this, but I-” the sound of her perceptive interruption cut Alex off, “-you have to go, I know honey.” She okayed understandingly, everything in her tone kind. Why couldn’t Alex have inherited that? She’d forgive anything. Would Miles forgive anything? 

“I love you.” Alex relayed, hoping the words would find her heart. His Mother’s pixelated smile brightened, “you too, love, Da says he’ll try you in a few.” Alex never quite knew what that meant with his Father; it was possible that he and his Dad shared an equal lack of technological know-how. But he missed his Dad’s voice and the way any phrase spoken to Alex could shock him back to ten years old. 

Once Penny had hung up - for Alex still didn’t understand the mechanics behind this task - he shut the laptop, pushing a plume of tension out of his lungs as he sent the device away. 

Alex languidly slid from the couch to park next to Miles, his exhaustion leading him to his back. Staring up at the ceiling, Alex couldn't help but conclude that if his entire body was a movie camera, eighty percent of screen time would be ceiling occupied. 

He sighed, his throat making the sound hard and rough. He turned his head from the plaster to catch Miles’s expression, spying down at his own entwined hands, his posture suggesting that he was once more uncertain as to which role he played. 

Alex drew the conclusion then that unspoken was beginning to wear out. 

Alex inhaled, looking at Miles’s dark lashes that shaded his lowered eyes, “I-”

“You don’t have to, explain…” Miles murmured, his tone certain but too low to go unnoticed. Alex pursed his lips, reaching out to take one of Miles’s hands. “Look, I - I just-”

“Alex really, I’m not asking for an explanation.” Alex searched his tone, but found no hostility, no resentment, no traces of regret or offence.

Was Miles simply asking Alex not to say what he already knew? And what could he know when Alex himself knew nothing? All he knew with Miles was that he barely knew anything. 

Alex’s lips blew a stream of relief out, though his chest remained morally clogged. 

 

2

The breeze sighed all around them, Miles’ hand in Alex’s, coats securely buttoned. 

The late afternoon stroll had been suggested after the film’s completion, every second of which Alex had been boring holes into Miles - his recent nature far more captivating than any motion picture. 

Why was he so good? If he could just revert to how he’d been at the beginning; harsh and slippery. Not this basket of affection. Not this warmth in his hand, not the man checking if the street was safe for them to cross, squeezing Alex’s fingers to make sure he was okay? But understanding when he wasn’t. Truly knowing that some emotional spin-cycles were the business of the container alone. 

They crossed the quiet park, the luscious cushion of grass under their shoes. Walking so close, two peas in a pea-coat pod. Alex’s arm curled like vine around Miles's, fingers safely locked. 

Every so often they’d murmur or note something, but with Miles, silence was full. Silence was warm and tingly and a bizarre helpline. 

“Any memories comin’ to ye?” Miles prodded in a smooth inquiry, breaking their exchanging silence. 

Alex pursed his cold lips, “yeah,” Alex hummed, “little ptsd here an’ there.” He snickered, his eyes taking in their first date’s location. 

Miles’s laugh came out in hot air into the freezing atmosphere, his breath visible like smoke. “T’was pretty traumatic.” He huffed in humorous agreement, nudging Alex playfully.

He remembered that picnic, and wondered how they’d gotten here. 

Not just here, now in this park, where the barb of recollection aimed at their collective hearts. But _here_. 

Alex’ and Miles’ bodies huddling in unison along the cobbled path, the whisper of dusk creeping in. Here. As in the pioneering scheme Miles had proposed one morning in a cafe Alex doesn’t go to anymore. As in the snakes and ladders of guilt and grief and realising that maybe Alex was just supposed to sink. 

Maybe Julian had fractured his ability to extend himself. Perhaps Alex was simply a one hit wonder. 

They were passing a cluster of park benches when Miles stopped them by a thick bodied tree, Alex halted. “Wot?” He asked, his hot breath hitting cold air in white clouds. 

Miles’s sight was caught on a point behind Alex, a smirk lacing his bluish lips, “guess some things never change, aye?” He snickered, cocking his head to the direction he’d been eyeing. 

Alex followed the gesture to spot the scatter of three or four shutter-bugs, their flashes dancing in the failing light.

Alex recalled their first fiction here, over the aged blanket Miles had procured, coupled with the depressing contents of his fridge. 

“Let’s keep movin’, yeah? Yer lips are purple, love.” Was what pulled Alex’s memory-doused attention back, his head rotating to face Miles. 

He smiled softly, nodding as he took Miles’s arm, resetting their trek. “So are yours.” Alex countered to the original comment, raising his brows smartly at the man. And then he was laughing against the lips crashing into his, frosty and perfect. A sloppy, alright-you-asked-for-it kind of kiss. Alex desperately ignored the camera clicks in the background, pressing a cold hand to Miles’s cheek, pink like the tip of his nose before they broke off. A smirked, somewhat teenage silence settling in.

After a moment Alex heard Miles sigh with a certain reverb of dreaminess, something that led Alex to turn to him. He took in the other lad’s relaxed head as he stared up at those trees. The ones that had witnessed their first date, their first step into an unruled game. 

Alex, thankful for the straight path, mirrored Miles’s recline. His chilly face to the sky, the silver clouds split by dark branches, as he pulled in breaths as deep as the wind. 

“It’s so easy with you.” He heard Miles murmur, finding the man’s embossed eyes on him when Alex rather suddenly resurfaced. They were walking but Alex was so obviously plummeting. 

 _It’s so easy with you_. 

He stopped, physically stopped in his tracks. 

Forgetting his hand, Alex ended up jerking the unsuspecting Miles to the same urgent pause. 

Alex’s mind reeled, his eyes widely piercing the stone pathway. 

He remembered the first time he’d seen Miles -  in his own shaken hold, presented to the bullet as Alex’s. The first time Miles touched him. The first time Alex had felt something, felt nothing in him but Miles. 

“I have to tell you something.” 

Alex sought refuge in the form of a steel park bench just off the walkway. Sliding over the stretch of the seat, Alex pressed his elbows to the expanse as he bunched his fingers in his hair. 

His breathing was anything but directed, pulse thrumming, feeling as if his heart's chambers were limited to one as it boiled. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, the soft hand on his back and the muffled sound of Miles’s voice only forwarded his anxiousness. 

“Al?” Miles prodded worriedly, “Alex, what is it?” Miles’s eyebrows pressed as his eyes washed over Alex’s posture, the boy could feel those holes burning into his coat. 

“I - I have to tell you something.” He restated shakily, his shoulders squared and hands locked over the lunch table.

Miles’s hand left him, which sent Alex’s eyes searching for whether he’d floated away. Instead of levitation, the boy watched as Miles slowly made his way around the bench, taking a seat opposite Alex. He appeared, above all, nervous for Alex’s sudden turn. 

The boy’s painfully threaded digits felt the embrace of Miles’s hands, their warmth sending a chord of assurance through his mind. Though the overtly friendly hug of hesitation continued suffocating Alex’s intentions, a mantra of contrasting advice weathering his determination: 

_Turn back Alex, before it’s too late._

_Tell him, you stupid boy._

“Alex,” Miles pressed softly, catching the boy’s eyes dash to the paps annoyedly. “What... whatever it is, you can tell me. Okay?” Alex lifted his sunken head, watching as a small smile grabbed at Miles’s lips, “after everythin’ we’ve been through, can’t possibly be _that_ bad.” 

Alex exhaled sharply, nodding his head. His eyes found an orange leaf across the bench to distract himself with, sucking another breath in and finally his sight locked on Miles. 

“It - god, it’s bad, it’s really bad.” He shook his head slightly, crossing his legs under the table. He felt those fingers rubbing little circles against his trembling hands. “Alex.” Miles levelled softly, a hand upturning in a gesture that could only say: look where we came from. 

Another stiff nod from Alex as he scanned Miles - the poorly hidden concern commanding his expression. 

“I…” Alex breathed, “I slept with him.” 

Flinching at his own words, Alex frowned at his lap. “I slept with Julian.” He verified shakily, his brows crossed as he fought to not look at Miles, as if he were simply no longer worthy.

When the man didn’t say anything Alex continued.

“Back when...when you an’ me…” he swallowed, “back...when - when we…”

“Weren’t us.” Miles uttered, his attention latched to their still entwined hands when Alex looked up. He developed the words in his dark-room brain, _when we weren’t us_. But there was always some version of them.

“Yeah.” Alex murmured, “i-in the, do you remember in the kitchen, when I... I kissed you?” 

Miles nodded slowly, pursing his lips in a permanent pull as he avoided Alex’s eyes, which now, rather desperately, needed to see his.  

“W-well, I...I was angry. At myself, that I’d done it - not because I didn’t want you, Miles.” He felt the corners of his eyes dampening, terrified he wouldn’t be able to make Miles understand him. “B-because he still...he still had this ridiculous, fucking... power over me.” His voice shook, shaking his head. “So I, I took...I took your car and...” and he really didn’t need to go on. 

Miles nodded once more, and when he opened his mouth - with what Alex dreaded to be fire, or words just as scolding - the boy urgently cut him off:

“I just, I - god. I’m sorry. I just, that night, I was feeling so...much. A-and I,” deep breath, “ I’ve never been good at addressing the big problems, a-and when I kissed you I just…” Alex sighed, unconsciously squeezing Miles’s hands. “I really didn’t know what I was doing. Before you, I had no sense of direction, like, none. And when...when you gave me something to want, I was...unprepared. But... I _wanted_ someone to want me, wanted _you_ to want me. And I didn’t know you or what rejection from you felt like...so I thought,” then Alex scoffed, shaking his head once more as he frowned at everything and nothing. “I thought: at least with Julian I know.” He blinked slowly as he fought those memories off, “...turns out I knew nothing.” 

He didn’t want to remember it, though thankfully it’d be once again lost in the chamber of his mind. 

Alex slowly pulled his hands away from Miles’s, crossing his arms as he stared at the table. 

An emotion akin to relief waved through his body, the internal clench freed as the floodgates of dred opened. Some things are a little too impossible to live with. And this was one. And now it was gone. 

He’d done it. 

Alex heard the sound of Miles blowing a breath out, and Alex couldn’t help but wonder if this was the end of their novel, the final chapter to an unconfirmed relationship.

But what Miles said next unravelled Alex’s assumption. 

“I knew.” 

3

“You…” Alex blinked, uncaring of the bewildered contour his face had netted “...y-you wot?” He sat up slightly, his eyes now having no problem latching to Miles, who stared at his hands, the only pair left on the bench. Alex’s brows pressed as he waited in suspense for elaboration.

“I…” Miles breathed, his surrendering orbs of hazel flicking up to catch Alex’s regard. “I, I heard you...take my car.” His tone was slow yet firm, as if his mind too was hell-bent on rejecting this conversation. “And...I, I 'eard you come 'ome…” 

“This...this entire time...you _knew_?”

Knocking at his door at an hour Alex regretted to recall, knowing full well what he’d done. Asking if he was okay, obvious to the reason as to why he might not be. Staying with him, not just that night but through every event since. Knowing. 

“I, I wasn’t sure, you know, that it...that it was him,” Miles pushed a sharp breath out, his fists in cold, en-nerved balls. “But, then, that night...when I came to see you...I, I think I knew then.” 

Alex’s expression was open with disarmament, his entire mind was paused, or on leave. He wanted to say so much, and nothing at all. He felt like a blank page as he gawked at Miles Kane. So much time spent spinning his tornado of regret and guilt and anticipatory horror. All to be demolished in two words. All of this time, Alex had been lightning striking himself. 

“Why…” the boy uttered, barely taking notice of the lightless park. The sun escaping, much like the Alex from five minutes ago. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His tone implied just how clueless he felt, did this truly mean they’d been lying - or more accurately, hiding sides - from each other all this time? It did seem their style. 

Miles pushed a breath out, lifting his shoulders as he frowned at the traffic-less road in the distance behind Alex. “Things were different then.” He explained slowly to the man’s question, _we weren’t us._

“We had a _deal_.” Alex pressed, doubtless traces of disbelief ringing through the retaliation. How could he have spent so long around Miles so completely unaware? Miles’s forgiveness, which Alex realised was what he needed, had been given without him ever knowing.

Miles had let Alex off the hook without a word. 

“Well then I, I just…” the other lad groaned softly, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, “I wanted you to figure out what you wanted.” 

Alex’s mind was swollen with new questions, all of which he probably knew the answers to. He’d occupied almost every moment of the past weeks with Miles, and both had separately been holding on to this. 

Had Miles been waiting for Alex to confess to it? Or would he have been content to allow the exploit to slip away? Because honestly, it didn’t end up mattering. Not the Julian part. Just Miles. But then again, maybe it did matter. 

Would Alex even _have_ Miles without the spiked assistance of Julian? 

The thought of Alex’s love with Jules paled in comparison to the colours his body felt when with Miles, the adventure he was. The perfect complication they were together. 

Now that the truth was not only in the air, but had been joined with a possibly greater confession, Alex’s body loosened. And all he could do was note Miles’ own equally world-rocked posture. Half expecting himself to feel something else, something horrible, Alex instead felt undone, hacked, unsolved. 

“You should be angry with me.” Alex urged in a half sigh, telling himself not to hold Miles’s hands, for fear of making them any less perfect with his own formless touch. 

“No…” Miles smirked softly on exhale, “don’t think I could be if I wanted to.” He gently shook his head, biting his lip in a gesture that spilt something warm in Alex’s chest.

The teleprompter in his head read, ‘I’ve never felt like this with anyone and I still don’t know if you’re mine.’ But he didn’t need to know, not right now. Not in this smoggy, unlit park, finally rid of shutter bugs but full of the glowing kind. 

He swallowed hard, fingers curling as he pressed his knuckles to his lips, blinking from his lap up to Miles. “Well, I…” his mind was still catching up with what just happened, “I did figure it out, what I want.” 

Miles’s cheeks lifted so slightly, “yeah?” He ventured, the question light hearted, hopeful even.

Alex caught his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded, leaning over the park bench to summon Miles’s lips. 

The kiss was riddled with forgiveness, apologies both sent the other with each motion. Miles’ hands found Alex’ arms, steadying him, while the boy’s fingers pulled at the collar of Miles’s coat.

“I’m sorry.” Alex breathed when his lungs demanded air, his forehead docking at Miles’s. The younger’s eyes were still shut as they had been throughout the kiss, “I’m sorry.” Alex echoed, feeling Miles’s fingers sinking into his biceps. 

The lad opened his eyes as Alex’s chocolatey midnights poured over him, the proximity merged with their equal urge to express their regret. A mutual need to give and receive. 

Miles pressed his mouth to Alex’s once more before breaking off way too soon. “Wh-” Alex stuttered, interrupted by Miles’ declaration, “I’m taking you to bed.” The man said, rounding the table to pull Alex by his waist in the direction of home. 

 

A week or so later, alone in his bedroom, Alex sat at the end of his bed, legs hanging over the edge as he scrolled, a certain sense of scandal in the way he crowded the tab-polluted laptop screen. 

The room still smelled of Miles’s intoxicatingly aromatic shower, care of Alex’s own products, steam breathing through the en suite doors even with the absence of the Scouser.

Alex’s eyes flicked to the time, Miles had been gone for a while, shopping he’d said rather dismissively, which Alex had chosen to ignore. 

He smiled in memory of their anticipatory walk home from the park last week, just the way Miles could cape any of Alex’s worries, only to reveal something agreeable in the blink of an eye. 

‘Anythin' else to reveal, oh great and mysterious one?’ Miles had teased as they entered Alex’s street, to which Alex had boldly, dumbly, thoughtlessly, relayed his new found association with Jarvis, his sharply dressed therapist. And he didn’t die from that confession either.

Maybe Alex wasn’t as uncomfortable with transparency as he’d thought. 

Alex would like to believe there was nothing between them now, it did feel as though there stood no barricades either side of them. But of course, there remained the unanswered and shrugged off for now. Such as Alex’s folks and their insistent love for him and whomever he chose to keep close. And of course the issue of their unlabelled unity. The tale as old as time, titles to be stuck on.  

But he’d take this. This was good, he’d regained balance and he wanted to - needed to - enjoy it as it came. No ill wind flowed. The air that entered Alex’s body was loyal and he could get through nights with sleep, the knot of dread had unwound itself, and the misery had fucked off. Those shards of pain Alex felt in chest had also lessened, which he was beyond thankful for. Though when the anxiety did physically strike, there was always a hand on his back and Miles’s passive, easing assurance. His help there if Alex wanted it. 

Now, how Alex had allowed himself to fall down this rabbit-hole of Kane/Turner articles he couldn’t begin to explain. 

It’d started off innocently enough, with a simple Google search, he only wondered if perhaps the world had gotten over them. Perhaps they were at last yesterday’s jam? Maybe then that murky shame at having fibbed to their friends and family and planet could also piss off? 

However, the incomprehensible number of search results told Alex otherwise. After what felt like an hour of reliving nearly every one of their public outings, Alex found an image of one of their more recent ventures. 

His finger - actually sore from the journey through his and Miles’s social media-documented history - hovered over the scroll pad. To finally pause was almost a way of stepping out, realising how lost Alex had actually gotten in it all. 

It was last week in the park. The un-requested picture was taken in the space between their kiss, and the début of secrets that followed.

They’re staring up at the sky. 

You can hardly make them out, what with the fading sun and buttoned coats. It could easily have been another couple, also on the verge of confessions, walking and gazing up at the gloomy trees. 

The page’s heading, Alex couldn’t miss it, read: **_‘In Their Own World.’_ **Jesus, if only they knew. 

“Wot you looking at?” Miles suddenly asked from where he filled the bedroom door frame, his tone casual, teasing even. 

Alex slammed the laptop shut, face turning pink with the realisation of what he’d just spent a good chunk of his life looking at. 

“Porn.” He blurted without a moment's thought, a deer-in-the-headlights look painted on his face. Too embarrassed by the truth to feel one bit ashamed of the answer he’d hastily supplied, Alex simply blinked anxiously up at the lad, hoping he’d let him off easy. 

“No ye _not_.” Miles frowned with a playful certainty, Alex blinked up at him, “no,” he exhaled in a nervous huff, “no, I’m not.” He verified with tense shoulders before they shared a look, Alex held his breath, and then they simultaneously broke into a fit of laughter. Alex mostly chuckled in hopes of having that entire - albeit panicked - statement forgotten, though Miles’s laughter was an impossible trigger of Alex’s. 

“God, yer weird.” Miles sighed with a grin, leaning against the doorway, wearing those stunning slacks Alex had told him he had to buy.

The boy set his laptop down beside him, close enough so Miles couldn’t snatch it. “You took yer bloody time.” Alex said, ignoring the playful snark as he tucked his hair behind an ear. 

“Yeah...I, uh, I ‘ave a present actually.” Miles notified, scratching the back of his neck rather awkwardly, seeming oddly out practice in this kind of thing. 

Alex perked up, frowning softly, “for me?” He asked inquisitively, shifting slightly.

“Afraid so.” Miles chuckled lightly, “it’s in the living room.” 

Alex narrowed his eyes at Miles as he met him in the doorway, letting the man guide him down the hall, “if it’s another bloody plug, I swear to god-” his bittering was set aside by a snorted, “it’s not. Nothing of the arse variety, promise.” 

He lead Alex to the opening of the living room where, on the coffee table sat a rather modish looking pot plant.

Alex turned his head ever so slightly as he eyed the plant, it’s viper-like stance, the tuft of pinch-tipped leafs, the faint dust and striped daggers of yellow through the fronds.

“Wa...wot is it?” Alex wondered alongside the temptation to scratch his head, despite the curl of his lips and uprising warmth in his unknowing chest.

“It’s called a snake plant.” Miles informed him with his nose rather high in the air, a smirk pushing at his own mouth. “Here,” he said, urging Alex to take the armchair by the low table, instinctively handing him a cushion. Alex put it behind his back as Miles perched himself over the timber expanse, the leafy friend sitting beside him as he pulled out a piece of card. 

Clearing his throat, Miles read aloud the information slip: 

“ ‘The Snake Plant,” he began in a supreme tone, causing Alex to roll his eyes, “also known as Bowstring ‘emp, Devil’s Tongue, Good Luck Plant, or Lucky Plant cleans air better than most other indoor plants...has the ability to absorb excessive amounts of carbon monoxide, blah blah blah..” he skimmed, obviously skipping to a more interesting part - perhaps the specific feature that led him to buy _this_ particular plant.

“ ‘This plant is very tolerant of neglect.‘ ” He mentioned disinterestedly on his way down the little note, to which Alex had snorted at and silently filed away as another way to describe his character. 

“Ah, _‘ere_ we go,” Miles declared finally, squinting at the text, “‘ealth benefits include energy level improvement and can ‘elp those who suffer from ‘eachaches or _breathin’ problems_ ,” he raised his brows at Alex for that end part, which Alex gave him a two-fingered response for. “Other benefits include improved reaction times, and - _and_ : lowered levels of anxiety.” He spoke those last few  words slower, as if explaining why indeed he’d gotten Alex _this_ plant. 

Alex blinked back at the greenery on the low table in front of him, feeling Miles’s unobutesly nervous eyes on him. 

He suddenly zoomed out, distancing himself from the simplicity of this situation, and found something so much bigger hiding under what Miles had done for him.

“You...you bought this for me?” Alex asked, eye brows finally lowering to crease softly at Miles in question. The man opened his mouth, and then closed it, “if - if you don’t like it, it’s gone.” He assured rather swifty, as if deciding it to have been a bad idea all along. Perhaps he felt as though he were ignorantly intruding, overstepping. 

Be he wasn’t. With this ridiculously simple gesture, Miles had effectively shown Alex he genuinely gave a shit. Alex could laugh at himself, on a certain level he was. He never imagined a house plant could hold so much significance to him.

He looked at Miles and just frowned depheringly, his lips spreading with a weird kind of smile. “I love it.” He chuckled softly, fiddling with his fingers amongst his own nervousness.

“Oh,” Miles sighed with a smile tugging at his lips, “thank christ, tha’ thing was absurdly ‘ard to find.” He laughed self consciously, and with a soft sigh of relief, arose from his sitting position.

“So, uh,” he said as he stood, “there’s also-” but Alex’s hands yanked the lad down for a deep kiss, sinking every appreciation he had in between Miles’s lips. 

Miles ended up on his knees in front of the chair when Alex gave no hint of letting him go. The slighter parted his knees when Miles shuffled in closer, the sensation of his tongue swiping and twirling with Miles’s sent twists of arousal through the boy.

“Wait-” Miles laughed into Alex’s lips, “h-hang on, love-” he giggled as Alex continued pecking his cheeks like an annoying aunt. “There’s something else.” He finally managed to get out, looking up at Alex with his hands braced over boy’s shoulders. 

Alex looked down at Miles in his snog-haze, cracking a lazy smile, “how many plants did you _get_?” he asked laughingly, his own fingers gripping Miles’s shirt, still keen on the direction they were heading in. 

The kneeling man chuckled with an eye roll, “just the one.” He smirked, his eyes sweeping over Alex’s awaiting posture, his impatience none too subtly surfacing. 

“Well? Don’t leave me in suspense.” Alex motioned roughly with expecting eyebrows, “is it a blowjob by chance?” Miles rolled his eyes, “quite the imaginative one, aren’t ye? C’mon, think bigger.”

“Fucking pardon?” 

“ _Oh-_ I no, no I didn’t mean-” 

“Just give me the bloody gift.” Alex grumbled with a giggle suspended in the back of his throat. He’d get him for that later.

Miles nodded, pursing his lips around his own budding smirk. “Well,” he began foundationally, “we’ll ‘ave to get one of the guys to water our new friend.” Miles hummed, his eyes landing on the anxiety plant. Alex narrowed his eyes at him, and then the leafy life, “okay…” he pieced together, trying to work the lad’s clue out. 

“Work on our tans,” Miles sighed relaxedly, closing his eyes in a jokingly indulgent manner, “abuse tha’ minibar.” 

“A - a trip?” Alex hesitated, “Miles,” he murmured, shaking his head gently, mostly to himself. “I...I can’t exactly afford that right now...wot with my nonexistent income.” He joked awkwardly, shrugging apologetically as he scratched the back of his neck. 

It was true that things had been rather financially slim in comparison to...before. Alex was comfortable, but he couldn’t exactly up and vacation whenever he fancied.

Miles snorted, bringing Alex back. “Neither can I.” He chuckled obviously, as if Alex had to have known this. “I ‘ave a gig.” He relayed, “they’re gonna cover it all. Flights, accommodation, drinks an’ grub an’ all tha’.” His tone was excited yet wrapped in a sense of option, leaving room for Alex’s own decision. 

When he got nothing from Alex, Miles smiled softly at him, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Alex,” he smirked, “Alex, it’s alrigh’, babe it’s just an idea, I’m ‘appy to do the job an’ fly right ‘ome.” 

All Alex could think as his eyes fluttered over Miles was, fuck, he’s so lovely. To this thought, along with all of the ones before and after it, his lips curled uncontrollably as Alex gently shook his head in contradiction. “No,” he breathed rather dreamily - embarrassingly dreamily. “ I, I want to.” Alex grinned, biting his lip as he wrapped his arms around Miles’s shoulders below him. 

The other lad’s face lit and he pressed a firm, swift kiss to Alex’s cheek, quickly finding his mouth once more, resuming that heated journey.

“But,” Alex inhaled, feeling the high Miles had given him as they broke off, “am I, I mean, am I like, aloud to... be there with you?” He asked awkwardly, his fingers rubbing at the fabric of Miles’s skivvy.

“Alex,” Miles said monotone, revealing more obviousness Alex was oblivious to. “They practically begged me to bring you.” Miles chuckled, “good for publicity I imagine.” He sighed amusedly, wrapping his own arms around Alex, which the boy loved, would never not love he suspected. 

In their monkey-like hug, Alex’s eyes shone with a childlike excitement. Miles responded to this shine completely, “so,” he hummed as he felt the sunshine of their plans shower them and their messy liaison, “who are we gonna force to be plant-sitter?” Only Miles would buy a plant, only to then stick in with someone else as he set off, Alex subconsciously shook his head at it. 

He twisted his lips in thought, thinking on it but not really. “Mm...another conversation for another time.” He purred, closing his thighs around Miles’s body eagerly.

“Gonna come an’ watch me play?” Miles drawled lowly as his fingers, his impossible fingers, went for Alex’s waistband.

Alex made a throaty noise of feigned offence, “wot am I?” He teased, “yer fookin’ groupie?”

“Best groupie I’ve ever had.” Miles dared joke before being nailed in the face by the cushion he’d offered Alex earlier.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upcoming fluff? So unlike me! Let me know if you'd prefer fluff or smut for this next chapter, happy with either tbh haha. Message me on Tumblr (yvettecigarette) with vacation scenarios if you like! Follow me for updatesss.
> 
> Also! Feel free to check out the vErY cool Milex scifi/romance fic - There's A Starman... I've had a great time writing with the lovely Tightredpants !


	15. Blame It On Something.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciao my pals, this chapter is late, ah em sorry! <3 Also, the chapter title is a weak poke at Miles’s new creation, and I mention a certain bucket hat.  
> Enjoy!

There’s something so unexplained about what being near the ocean does to someone. 

Holding Miles’s shirt between his hands, Alex runs the cotton between the pads of his thumb and forefinger, sitting under the setting sun, nothing in his system but a newer, welcome tranquility. 

Alex’ sun-kissed legs are crossed over the sand, the grains soft and thin like flour as he watches the shorebreak in it’s graceful curls.

Perhaps it was that Alex knew no one here personally - the Scouser duck-diving under waves in exception - but Alex felt a certain freedom in just having himself and Miles in his space for a beat. Alex truly felt he’d morphed into a version of himself he favoured over the somber lad back home; the one who was somehow constantly too exhausted. To talk, to argue, to bother with an opinion. So absurdly unattached. The one who seemed to, more often than not, manually smile. 

Alex enjoyed the makeover Miles and this week had given him. 

He found that eventually he had to exit that weight, even if only to enter it again. Alex wasn’t so naive as to believe that this high would survive indefinitely. Which was not to say his current repose would be left behind when he and Miles returned home. Alex supposed his misery and his contentment ebbed and flowed…not unlike like the waves playing with Miles.        

Alex blinked down at the grains clinging to the underside of his thighs, painted all up his navy swim shorts. The sun shot a yolky shade over the boy and the beach, an almost singular tone, matching his skin with the sand. 

He lifted his head to the sound of Miles’s hysterical laughing, Alex’s cheeks lifted and he heard himself chuckling under his breath. Watching as the man was dumped by a modest, while punishing wave, resurfacing with a drenched head of hair and salt-stabbed eyes. The Scouser-sea-creature, from what Alex could see in his exhausted posture - had decided to call it for the day. The day, it seemed, was also calling it. 

Watching the sunset: laughably mediocre, however, not something they could leave without doing. 

Alex watched Miles as he climbed the beach up to him, internally applauding all those swimming briefs revealed _._ Miles’s ribs, that just kissed the surface of his torso, the way he carried himself, the security. Sharp corners around his long, slender body, arms, wrists, hips, all moving in concurrent motion. 

“He returns.” Alex roused as the man came closer, a cheeky smirk toying with his lips. 

Dripping with water, Miles’s hair curled back as he ran his long fingers through it, beads of liquid cascading down his body. Alex raised his brows at him pointedly, “thought the sea might’ve claimed you.” The man shot Alex a hearty grin, his eyelashes long and damp as be blinked down at him, drizzling water over Alex’ feet. 

Catching the towel the seated lad threw him, Miles tousled his hair dry and settled with an exhale next to the boy. 

“Told it I’m taken.” He replied to Alex’s original snark, earning a dumb shove and a hard eyeroll. Miles snaked an arm around the boy’s shoulder, however, Alex quickly flinched away from the soaked embrace. “Wait, stop,” he protested weakly, trying to free himself of Miles’s playful, barricading arms, “lemme _go._ ” He whined when the man’s grip only tightened, a chuckled negative noise in his ears indicating that Miles wasn’t relenting. 

Alex eventually gave up, tiredly giggling through his determined frustration. When he did manage to break out, Alex shot Miles a blank face after looking down his soaked shirt. “Thanks a lot King Triton.” Alex muttered as he peeled the piece off, feeling the cool breeze of evening caressing him. Miles only snickered in lieu of an apology as he resumed drying himself. 

Alex stopped to admire him once more - it was fucking hard not to. He was hooked on these collective features that made up Miles.

Once the swimmer deemed himself dry enough for human contact, he asked Alex if he still had Miles’s hat on him. The boy scoffed incredulously, passing it over, “hate to break it to ye Mi,” he humoured, “but bucket hats are so last summer.” 

With a snort, Miles took the item.“Not if I ‘ave anythin’ to say ‘bout it.” The other man chirped simply, tugging the thing over his head. The slighter pursed his lips around a laugh that threatened to surface, rolling his eyes. Alex raked over the man’s memorable fashion choice, “don’t mind the colour though, give ye tha’.” He smirked, pulling the front of it over Miles’s eyes. “Goes with the theme.” 

Miles chuckled at it, taking the victim of ridicule off to inspect what Alex meant, “the theme?” He echoed, brows drawing up from the hat, towards Alex inquisitively. 

The boy jerked his head in reference to the golden-orange sunset, the rays of glowing tangerine. The sun sank below the horizon, pulling down all kinds of shades with it. Peach, and apricot sprays exhaled along the ocean’s surface. A marmalade back-page for the day.

Alex looked down at Miles’s matching bucket hat, between the other man’s pruney fingers and tan-dusted hands, deciding he wasn’t all that indifferent to it.

Alex felt his body seek Miles’s in the end, humming into the coolness of his hold in contrast to the heated climate around them. The lad wrapped an arm around Alex once more, and the boy could feel the chest under his ear, the organ pumping behind it as they gazed up at the day’s curtain-draw. 

Tomorrow would be their last full day. Another night, another flight, and then they’d be home. 

It wasn’t as if either dreaded their return to homebase, if anything, Alex counted the seconds between him and his own bed. Miles, in all of his mortal efforts, had tried to make the stiff mattress bearable. From round the clock penetration, to extensive pillow forts. 

 

Their departure had been a relatively easy one. Between the limited array of candidates, Alex had selected Matt as his successor in plant watering, and mail retrieving. 

Alex, in all of his meticulous glory, was packed hours before his Miles, leaving him to his equipment assembly. 

On his way out of the bedroom, he took a second - half of one - to note Miles’s respecting treatment towards his gear. The guitars, minor amps, even the leads that refused to behave. All handled with that manner, that care. It was something Alex had begun to realise in being around Miles that he wanted back. If he just knew how to get there. 

Miles’s appearance - which Alex would attend - wasn’t till their last night, which meant they’d be flying home hungover. At least the two would have the first six days commitment-free he’d thought in consolation, dialing Matt’s number. 

“ _Alex_? Alex Turner?” The drummer asked incredulously, “is it really you?” 

Alex laughed at Matthew’s pointed humor, shutting the front door behind him as he stepped out onto the porch. “That’s righ’, back from the dead.” He chuckled, rightfully scorned for his recent lack of contact with his friends. 

Sticking a cigarette between his lips, Alex took one of the seats along the outdoor area, pulling his hoodie sleeves down over his hands as he lit up. 

He held the phone with one hand, cradling the smoke in his other. “Wouldn’t say dead.” Matt chided, “quite the, er, online presence these days.” His tone was a telling tease and Alex snorted, scratching his brow with the cig held hand. “Don’t remind me.” He sighed, remembering those articles of misinformed - misdirected - praise. Matt snickered on the other end, “so, ‘ow are you?” His friend asked, offering Alex all he’d ever need in confessing his bookshelf of woe. He blinked down at his hands, rubbing at the skin as little curls of ash dropped to his lap, searching his own responses unhurriedly. 

“I’m good.” He said, momentarily shanked by the honesty lacing it. “Off on ‘oliday apparently.” He chuckled softly, taking a pull of the cigarette, relaxed by the habit or something like it. 

“Oh _righ_ ’?” Matthew chirped with honest wonder, the tone suggesting his own elation for Alex. “When’s tha’?” He asked, his genuine pep for Alex and Miles’s expedition brought a glow to the boy’s chest, one that he could only visualise. 

“Soon,” Alex declared in an eased, distant thought, “I actually ‘ave a favour to ask.” He tacked on, a smile pulling at his lips around the paper beast. Matthew snorted on the other end, “and out it comes,” he joshed, “let’s hear it.” Alex giggled through his smile into the phone, crossing his legs as he studied a fraying thread. “Were wonderin’ if you’d hold down the fort?” Alex requested in a playful task, tensing his shoulders as he grinned around the failing tobacco. 

Matt chuckled on the other end, and it was as if he were here, punching his shoulder or snorting when Alex was casting too long of a gaze at Miles. 

“‘Course I can, man.” He relayed obviously, “can’t ‘ave Nick leaving the front door unlocked like last, aye?” Matthew laughed, sending the effects to Alex’s own snickering chest. “Oi, in his defence!” Alex inahled, thinking of a case for the lad. 

When five seconds of silence passed the two broke into an episode of laughter, both lovingly mocking their adorably naive friend. 

“Aye, I’ll do it mate.” Matt reinstated, coming down from the hilarity Alex and he always managed to fall into. 

Alex breathed through the few trembles of laughter remaining, “thanks, man.” He sighed, “carton of your finest in the fridge, our thanks to you.” Matt made a humming sound of approval, “well when ye put it like tha’.” He chuckled, “nah, mate, anytime, you know tha’.” 

Alex nodded to no one, his cheeks rising softly as he snubbed his cig out, pressing the smoking end over the ass-shaped ashtray Miles had talked Alex into buying. That was a questionably losing battle. 

“I’m good, Matt.” He found himself murmuring once again. No one asked, not this time, but he need to answer his own repetition. 

“I’m glad.” His friend, his rock, his helpline replied. “I am.” 

Alex could imagine a world wherein he was the master of human interaction, a certified small talker. But Matt but didn’t expect that. How could he when his best friend was Alex Turner? Not the boy Alex sometimes wished he could be for the people around him. Maybe that was love; not demanding the presence of versions that didn’t exist. Alex can’t know. The religion of love seemed infinite in it’s theories. 

“So, I...I should probably make sure Miles ‘asn’t packed the entirety of ‘is closet.” Alex chuckled softly, leaning forward in his seat as the hissing of passing traffic became known. Matt laughed at that, “go on then, use a crowbar if you ’ave to.” Alex rolled his eyes around his own throaty chortle, “will do.” He affirmed kiddingly, rubbing his eyes as the cool air sent a pink to them. 

Following their jovial goodbye, Alex had slipped back into the warmth of his home, though grabbed a knitted blanket from the sofa all the same. 

Wrapping the wooly friend around himself, Alex reentered the bedroom to find three overstuffed suitcases, the third of which Miles was sitting on in hopes of zipping up.

“Oh Al, love!” He hollered, spotting Alex in the doorway, “gimme a hand ‘ere.” 

 

Alex’s mind found it’s present once more. In the sand with Miles, curled up together in reflection of the most stereotypical tourists. 

He smiled up at the other man, who’s sight remained captured by the lingering pinks and soft blues. He must have felt that regard, as Miles blinked down at the body leaning against his own. He looked down at the boy, “hey.” He uttered, a delicate curl to one side of his mouth. Alex bit his bottom lip, smiling gently up at Miles. “Hey.” He answered in echo, his fingers snuggly threaded through Miles’s.

“Do you…” the man murmured, studying Alex’s face - the darkest set of eyes gazing up at him. “Do you want to head back?” Alex smiled languidly up at the lad, nodding softly, “yeah.”

They collected their things before trudging up the beach in a giggled, less than composed manner. 

2

Their previous days had passed easily like this. Cheap thrills all within the confines of a hotel that they weren’t paying for. 

The moment they had landed they wanted to be doing things. Sex, for starters. Their entire plane ride had been in anticipation of hotel screwing. However, the moment they’d shut the door behind them and dropped to the bed, it was clear they’d have to take a raincheck. The two had passed-out the moment they hit the mattress, sleeping for the rest of the day and most of the following. 

In the dark, air conditioned room, it was a nice bundle of slothing around in their boxers or less, and lazing in front of the telly.

In this momentary haze extending over a couple days, Miles and Alex found their choices of kicks. Whether it be getting utterly pissed and screaming Richard Hawley at each other, fucking on every conceivable surface in their room, or simply trying not to burn the premises down with their conjoined culinary incompetence - they were so happy. 

When they grew tired of their hermit ways, the two would find their amusements elsewhere,

swimming being a particularly prominent one. Whether scoldingly chlorinated dips in the pools, or salty trips to the beach, it was always a pleasure they both relished. 

Aside from Alex having to literally hold Miles down in order to get some goddamn sunscreen on him, it was a welcome remedy for anything he needed undone. 

At the beach he’d spread a striped blanket out, launch the sizable sun umbrella and sit back. A book, a flask depending on last night’s hangover, and Miles’s body basking up against his own. 

It was a reset Alex hadn’t realised he needed. 

 

The day acceding their little sunset rendezvous was quiet for Alex, Miles had returned from a rehearsal at lunch to find him attempting to tidy, trash bag in hand. 

Their abuse towards the hotel room came in the form of green bottles and grubby dishes anywhere but the sink. The intruding lad, already on his feet from band practice, had decided to lend a hand. 

“So, ‘ow was it?” Alex wondered halfway into their clean, referring to the rehearsal. Handing Miles a grimy plate as he was elbows deep in dishwater, Alex thoughtlessly began adjusting the other lad’s sleeves. He wondered how long it’d been since he’d seen Miles like this, in that pre-performance haze of electric energy. Had he ever seen him like that? 

“Yeh, actually really good.” Miles chimed rather giddily, smirking down at Alex’s focus on the rolling of sleeve. “I’m pretty chuffed…” he hummed, smiling down at the dish he scrubbed, “glad yer comin’.” 

Alex’s chest pulled in a lovely kind of twist at the statement, his lips struggling to purse around the grin that begged to surface. “Yeah well, don’t expect our intimacy to cloud my judgement,” he retorted, “I’m going full Simon Cowell tonight.” 

To this comical heads-up, Miles rolled his eyes, snorting an: “oh fuck off.” Shoving Alex off with a sway of his hip.   

 

After Miles left for soundcheck - the hotel room shining with disinfected cleanliness - Alex decided to draw a bath. As the bubbly tub filled, the boy moved off in the direction of their conjoined closet. 

The room was all open plan monochrome, though the tomato sauce Miles had managed to splat up the ceiling in spaghetti-dynasty added a nice colouring to the space. 

Alex fetched the outfit he would wear to Miles’s gig - something he’d actually taken time picking. But just as he crossed the space between their unmade bed and the running faucet, Alex found his eyes stitching to the acoustic guitar leaning against the wall opposite him. 

His body suffered a wave of warmth in tribute to the view before him, he bit the inside of his cheek. Alex wondered how his healed, callous-free fingers would feel against the nylon, how it would be to climb the fretboard once more.

He pushed out a breath he supposed he’d been holding, turning back towards the bathroom.

 

In the heaving weight of his own body, Alex found the bath water to be a welcome solace. Though as unwound as his body was starting to feel, Alex’s mind filled with the thoughts that, both the company of Miles, and the happenings of this week had managed to drown out. Which was difficult, seeing as all of these troubling blockages circled Miles himself.  

Alex didn’t know if they were absolute - he and Miles. Seeing as their relationship had been born of exclusivity rather than authenticity, he felt there ought to be a line separating the before - before he felt something - and the after. But he couldn’t find it. He wanted Miles with him, by his side in so rich of an emotion that Alex shone when he pictured it. Just the next hello, the following kiss and all of the stupid things Miles says that Alex cherishes so pathetically, so beautifuly. 

This was a turbulent enchantment. But he wanted in. 

 3

In the wings, it’s safe and the bottle in Alex’s hand reminds him he’s okay. The sheer vibration of the throbbing crowd, the wonderfully sharp peirce of guitar solo, the mere understanding that Alex would take Miles back to their room after this. All added to the boy’s drugless high. 

The venue crawling around him is so enclosed, he loves it. There rest something so special in this bubble of Miles Kane, the audience, the entire room is under his spell just as Alex is. And he loves that. That he can know something so pure that he _wants_ it shared.

The simple sense of welcome that had embraced Alex the moment he’d slipped past the crowds, flashing his pass to security, it’d stunned him. Slapped him in the face like a baffled inner-parent, asking him how the hell he could have given such magic up.

He shoved that thought back, taking a due swig from his bottled brew. His eyes found the main event once again, though, when wasn’t Miles Alex’s main event? 

He wasn’t as glam as past performances might’ve pointed towards, no. Miles, in all of his slender movements, simply strides in those crisp slacks and a pale blue, billowy dress shirt. One Alex had been wearing a few days back, perhaps just so he could be up there with Miles in a disillusioned way. 

That desire to be where Miles was struck Alex once again, and with it curled a new shroud of anxiety. He frowned at the floor, feeling the total pressure his eyebrows forced down in concern. Alex looked up from his shoes, the same pair he used to wear to casual gigs back in _those_ days, and decided to look for the backdoor as his itch for nicotine surfaced. 

 

Outside, against the brickwall that finished the building, Alex took a heady pull of the lit cigarette. The outdoor lighting offered little if any light to the boy, it looked as if they’d attempted to make this area inviting, but realised halfway through that it wasn’t worth the trouble. 

The entrance of tobacco calmed Alex as it always had. Later, under the covers, Miles would pull the boy close and breathe in deeply, whispering that an inhale of Alex was as effective as a cigarette. 

This was wonderful. That entire avenue of worry in Alex’ mind seem closed off, and he was okay. But then, in this breathtakingly numb trance of concert and sound, that street had opened up again. In an instant. 

Alex, unknown to the misery he’d soon be exposed to, pulled out his vibrating phone. 

Bringing the device up to his ear, Alex neglected to check the caller ID as he always seemed to, and extracted the cig from his lips. “Hello?” He greeted croakily, bringing the smoke up for another plume to exhale. The line was silent for a beat, before his voice poured through the speaker.

“Alex? What the hell, I’ve been calling you for fucking _weeks._ ” Julian snapped, “where the fuck are you?” His tone was not tidy, his voice was strained and obligatory. Alex’s heart - so used to snapping and mending for this man - sank. He sagged back against the cold bricks behind him, his chin lifting as his head met the stone. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, cigarette forgotten between his fingers, but found nothing worth saying. 

Julian sighed frustratedly, “I’m- I’m not mad, Al.” How big of him, Alex pondered. His face dropping, facial features giving up with tautness. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of Julian’s broken cast over him. Now it was simple exhaustion, paired with worry that Jules may not relent. His heart, that twisted Casablancas heart, seemed bent out of shape and Alex felt for him. But it wasn’t without the suspicion that perhaps Julian was never taught how to do it - love. 

“I’m with my partner. We’re away right now.” He found himself conveying monotone, “is there something you want, Julian?” His limbs remained conjoined to his body and his spine was straight, he could breathe but Julian’s hand was reaching through the phone, catching Alex’s neck between his fingers.

A scoff came as the American’s response, not as severe as Alex had forecasted, though perhaps this was merely the prologue. “Your _partner_?” He prodded with just the right tone of disinterest, “oh, you mean that little fling you’re telling everyone you actually give a shit about?” 

When Alex was momentarily speechless, Julian laughed under his breath from the other end, “you may have your inner-circle, and everyone else convinced. But I know you baby, you know I know you.” He was drunk, but the venom sank in all the same.

Alex glared at the ground, his breathing had picked up just a little. God, he could just remember every second spent loving Julian, devoting himself to someone that turned out to be lonelier than him. 

He remembered asking himself, sometime between Julian and Miles, what kind of a god would create a man so lovable, and yet so incapable of loving. 

But that was heartbreak speaking on his behalf. Looking back and mistaking pain for pleasure. 

“I don’t know what I know, Julian.” Alex uttered blankly, dropping the burning paper to his feet as he crushed it under his boot. “But you should stop.” 

His ex made a noise of obnoxious disbelief, “ ‘I should stop’.” He reiterated, “maybe you should take your own advice, you little fraud.” That hit something in Alex, a nerve? A chord struck that he couldn’t bare to experience. A heartbreak so self inflicted that he couldn’t _feel_ , wouldn’t feel. 

Was this it? Had Julian sniffed Alex out? 

_You got me. I orchestrated an entire relationship that melted around me, it pushed you out of my mind._

Alex pushed a load of air out of himself, “nice talking Julian-” was his closer, butted in by a rushed: “ _wait_ , wait, Alex, wait.” Punctuated by Alex’s finger over the end-call button. Was that a little victory right there? No, Alex didn’t have those. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I’m bullying Julian but he can handle it, he’s a rockstar ffs! xx


	16. love-hate-sex-pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four more chapters and I'll be outta your hair!   
> Smut up ahead <3

1

He wouldn’t eat his heart out over this, no. 

While the phone call had certainly flushed Alex’ Kane-induced sedation out - instantly replacing it with an utterly burnt taste -  the lad would soldier on with this evening. 

As Alex had desperately seized that  _ ungodly  _ conversation - tucking his phone away as the old hat of shame was fastened tight - he felt the cancel of his newly acquired bliss. 

Alex looked out into the unlit area around him, the completely failed attempt to appear welcoming. You really would think they’d try harder, people smoke, people need backdoors. Untapped potential. A lot of that lately. 

Unfortunately, as Alex duct-taped the mouth of his worries, he soon found his mind wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. His awareness took the punch to the gut that Alex’s exchanges with Julain seemed to always be. There ought to be a law against such a feeling.

Alex took solace in the visible evidence that he no longer gravitated towards that scent of trouble and booze. He’d chosen _ Miles’s _ wrath - his unconditional envelope - over Julian’s tunnel of dependence. Yet, here the young man stood. Just as malleable and just as transparent as the break up. 

So it was a scam on top of a scam. Faux stitches. That inner, underlying decision that Alex had so delicately formulated: that Julian couldn’t reach him now. 

Now such a victory seemed so useless. A rouse for his own protection. Just a fib he’d needed to tell to himself in order to breath. Breathing. God, that had once come so easily to him

Another cigarette, yes.

“Alex, babe!” Miles trumpeted, swinging the exit door open beamingly. Alex jumped, dropping the cig in fright. The unlit aid met the space between his shoes, such sad shoes. His startled, widened eyes lifted, bonding to Miles’s post performance glow. 

Could he just steal an ounce of the health in Miles’s flushed features? Would he lend him that weightlessness? Or could Alex perhaps, borrow some of that shimmering paradise in the performer's eyes? He’d return these things of course, one day. 

Fucking fuck.

“ _ Hey _ .” Alex pushed out, squishing his mind down and his cigarette out under his shoe. Stumbling - as he constantly found himself doing with honesty and it’s deliverance - Alex reached for a convincing visage. He laced up his smile, because he needed to be okay right now. 

“Wot are you doin’ out ‘ere, love?” Miles frowned questioningly, his energised form halting as Alex’s own air paused it. Another jolt of error cuddling the boy tight. 

“I,er, joost slipped out for tha’ last set…” he uttered soberly, blinking at the ground before shrugging up at Miles rather sheepishly.This was what happened when he was given room to think. 

When Miles neared Alex and placed his hands over the slighter’s crossed arms, the boy mirrored him, unfolding his limbs as he softly squeezed the musician's sweat damped shirt. 

Alex frowned down at their conjoined arms, breathing much too deep of a breath out. “I - I’m sorry, I was just-” Miles swept his apology away with a soft shake of his head, leaning in to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek. “I get it.” He whispered mercifully, “or, I...I want to.” It was a question, wasn’t it?

Alex smiled sadly up at him, “it…” he’d have to shapeshift into correction, “it’s nowt, joost needed a smoke. You know me, can’t go two minutes.” He chuckled open mouthed, close to nervously.  _ You know me. _

Miles twisted his lips into a pointed smirk, “I do know you.” He snickered, dipping in to peck Alex over his parted mouth, “tobacco lips.” He silently hummed against the boy’s skin, reaching into the pocket of Alex’s leather jacket containing the carton of cigarettes, patting himself down for a lighter as he too appeared itchy. Alex smiled, handing over his lighter before he watched Miles light up. It all slowed down again as his heart thumped. 

One phone call, one drunk babble, and Alex was seemingly back to square one. 

His tired eyes swept over Miles as the man cradled the cigarette between his teeth, rubbing at the skin over his hands absent-mindedly. He was beautiful, and he could help this wound heal. Alex’ guilt had never cock-blocked him before. 

With his own  naiveté  out for the count, Alex stepped into Miles’s space, craning his head slightly as he peered upwards. He took the cig between Miles’s lips, sending it away in one flick, out into the darkness. 

Miles smirked down at him as Alex cornered further, his hands came to bunch around the fabric of the taller’s dress shirt, slowly crowding him back against the tired looking brick wall. Tugging the man’s mouth toward his own, Alex pushed down every ounce of his own objection, nuzzling his nose against Miles’ as the salt of his sweaty lips drove him on. 

There really was something to be said about the game of self preservation. The chase, the search for security, or a nice resemblance of it. “B-back, can - can we go back? To…” he exhaled shudderingly, his chest locked up with unsent sounds, “to the - the suite, I...need you. ” Alex’ breathing was deep but that air seemed almost like it didn’t want to be taken.

Miles stilled, looking down at the boy seriously, his eyes laying over all of him. “Alex,” he said as his hands suspended Alex’s snogging, “wait, baby - wot - wot is it, wot’s wrong?”

_ “Nothing.”  _ Alex all but pleads, “just - please.” He dragged his short-nailed fingers through the side of Miles’ hair, pulling at the tuft as he leaned in for another meeting. Miles’s breath was caught in the collision, his eyes softly closing as Alex squeezed his, rainbows sparking behinds his lids. 

“You were incredible.” Alex breathed, recalling the showman Miles undeniably was. “Wanted to grab you by the ear and drag you to bed.”

Miles groaned lowly, “would’ve let ye.” Alex felt his hand fill with Miles’, felt it being led to the taller lad’s ear, a gesture Alex would have giggled at were he not in the midst of latent hyperventilation. Instead Alex lazily rolled his eyes with a snort, pressing his lips against Miles’s once more, his hands urging the other’s to take his hips. 

“Want you.” He all but growled, “can we, I - I want to-”  His eyes stung in the background of Alex’ awareness before Miles saved him, nodding and panting softly, “ask me,” he uttered hotly, biting his lip almost as fiercely as Alex, “ask me again.”

Alex groaned, pressing his forehead to Miles’s, “now. Please.”

 

In the dim hallway of their floor, Alex obsessed his hands with Miles’s shape, as though the secret to the universe was hidden inside him. Burrowing his anxious body into Miles’ side, Alex folded into the long arm around him, releasing a breath as Miles jutted their room key into the lock, pursing his lips as the door at last yielded.

The instant the frame shut Miles was on Alex, just as he needed him - everywhere.

He held the boy’s face in his hands, kissing passionately as they shuffled towards the bed. Alex’s hands flattened out behind him, palms meeting the duvet as he sank to the mattress. 

Miles quickly established himself between Alex’s legs, to which the boy enfolded his limbs around the man’s thighs. Alex swallowed hard, his eyes squeezing as he felt the acid in his belly scorch his insides. He tremored, his hands shook as he reached overhead for Miles’ jacket lapels, shoving the fabric back as it rolled over his shoulders. 

Alex kicked off his jeans, Miles’s lips continuously worshiping his. The other lad peeled out of his shirt impatiently, the item falling from the musician as Alex deleted his own top. 

Nude, Alex watched as Miles tugged hastily at his belt, slipping out of his trousers to reveal his bulging offering. Before the man could continue with the extraction of his tight boxers, Alex was curling his fingers around the waistband, yanking them down - far too fearful of Miles’s usual foreplay. This couldn’t wait. 

Miles didn’t take visible notice - merely snickered in the darkness to the man’s eagerness - Alex hadn’t even realised how lightless room was - though there was a lamp at the bedside table with a dim pour of illumination. Just enough so that Alex and Miles could see and reach for one another, but not so bright that Miles could spot the boy’s frown lines, his spacing eyes and trembling bottom lip. 

Alex felt a twinge of guilt when he forewent oral, he usually fell right into it, wanting nothing more than a chance to give Miles what his body twitched for. Tonight his motives make a beeline for having the man inside him, feeling him from the inside, he needed this ever-tightening spiral of worry fucked out of him. 

If Miles sensed something was off, it was left unspoken for Alex’s own benefit, knowing the boy would groan annoyedly to it. Or perhaps, Miles simply wanted to satisfy the beast hosting Alex, then perhaps he’d get the real one back. 

When Miles surrendered his posture to kiss Alex softly, the slighter flexed his fingers into Miles’s fleshy shoulders, feeling the skin under his digits yield obediently. Dodging any trajectory of gentle, Alex elected to drown his senses in a rough clash of lips and teeth. 

Miles’ chest stuttered at the fiery brutality to the kiss, a small noise piked in the back of his throat as Alex clung to him. 

Inviting himself to Miles’ swelling cock, Alex swallowed the groan delivered to his tongue. With his hand lazily stroking Miles’s shaft, Alex’s chest went all grainy, his mind static with doubt. It was then that he realised how impossible it was to get-off on one’s own pain. 

“Condom?” Miles husked into Alex’s neck as he remained bowing, his longer frame towering over the bed. Alex groaned at the seconds wasted, “no.” He shook his head almost pleadingly, eyes closed as he caught a reverb of his own tone. Attempting to mend his haste with a panting, “wanna feel you,” Alex ran his teeth up Miles’s throat.

The response was growled, though Miles soon stilled himself - such a good detective he was. Pulling back an increment, Miles looked into Alex’s eyes as though he was trying to see right through them, and into the boy’s experiences.

“ _Miles._ ” Alex breathed on exhale, his body a ticking time bomb of unerupted disaster, just begging to blow. “Honey, _please_.” He squirmed, the presence of a new pet name thrown over his shoulder. That kind of night, he later concluded. 

He set free a gust of withheld air when Miles nodded affirmatively, leaving Alex’s bare legs dangling as he moved to retrieve the assistance of lube. 

Alex’s eyes fixed to the littered bedside table as Miles scavenged through it, iced in scrunched notes of lyrics that had been pouring from Miles all week. 

When the man returned with the dainty bottle in hand, Alex pulled his legs up, holding the underside of his thighs as he exposed himself shamelessly. He was too spaced out, too distanced to feel embarrassed about his forwardness, though the pink blooming over his cheeks apparently didn’t get the memo.

The offered sight seemed to give Miles full incentive, the utterly famished look on his face brought Alex the need to he touched and cherished in a way that made him wriggle. He licked his lips and peered down as Miles fell to his knees - a look of awe adorning the lad’s expression as he settled above the pulse weeping for him. 

A hand closed around one of the boy’s plum thighs, and he felt Miles’ thumb caress the hot skin gently. Alex sighs as his head dropped back to the sheets, one hand running through his hair, staying there as his other bunched the linen under him.

When Miles drizzled the liquid over Alex’s opening he shuddered softly, the shiver rolling through his ribs and out his hips. His breathing stuttered as Miles’ first finger entered him, he could feel himself - his own tightness around the digit invading him.

“Ah…” Alex hitched in a silent cry, lifting his head with another sharp sound as a second finger joined him. Peering down at Miles, Alex watched the man’s eyes trail up to meet his own hooded orbs. Before Alex can even think to urge Miles on, the man is sinking a third and final finger inside him, Alex’s relenting pucker swallowing him up to the knuckle. 

The willing victim made another stuttered yelp, his voice breaking as his skull fell back, melting in surrender. 

Miles peered up through his soppy, matted hair that hung over his eyes, relishing the rise and fall of Alex’s plump chest, and the tipped chin he could see trembling. Biting his lip longingly, Alex screwed his fingers harder into the duvet, feeling the pulse surrounding Miles’s fingers ringing through him. 

With the three members tucked inside him, Alex let out needy a moan when those slim digits gently hooked to graze his sweet spot. 

Alex continuously found himself forgetting to breath, feeling the delicacy of those massaging fingers, sharp snippets of air sweeping in and out of him as Miles scissored away, pleasure bucketing through his wilting body.

“Kane.” he groaned through his teeth, his fingers finding Miles’s shoulders as he inclined. The man’s fingers seized as he turned his attention to Alex, “please,” the boy pressed, stirring as his anxieties drove on, chugging through his system mercilessly. 

Miles released an open mouthed breath, shuddering as he extracted his fingerprints from Alex’ internal warmth.

The boy’s skin itched as he watched Miles pour the drooling lubricant over himself, the man’s urgency leading to a great deal of the liquid meeting the carpeting. Miles didn’t seem to make any sign of recognition towards the spill, sliding his hand over his length as he lathered himself. 

A weight was lifted - one pebble in a tonne anchoring Alex - when Miles dropped the spent bottle from his hand, and arched over him again, a famished look in his eyes.

When Miles made to position himself, Alex fussed, suddenly sitting up with a palm pressing over Miles’s beating chest. 

The man let off immediately to Alex’s wordless protest, his feet finding the floor as he backed off the mattress. He put his hand over the one trembling above his sternum, watching Alex closely as the boy’s eyes glued to something indirect. 

Alex collected himself as fast as he could, gathering all of his survival skills in the ways of emotion and swallowed hard. Glancing up to meet Miles’s careful regard, Alex licked his lips before he began to reposition himself. 

“From behind.” He more or less ordered, flipping to his stomach as he lifted up on all fours. Alex felt the atmosphere shift, something he’d set into motion as a means of protecting Miles. Alex  _ needed _ this - whatever  _ this _ was; a release, a cover, a shroud to cloud his problems - but dragging Miles into an awkward, unfair reality couldn’t happen. Alex would happily secure the rose-coloured lenses over Miles’ eyes for now.  Eventually this would pass, as it always did. 

Alex sucked on his nether lip when a familiar hand found his waist, and another travelled along his ribs up his left side. The boy’s hips lifted of their own accord, the small of his back dipping as his body instinctively asked for Miles.

He hears a heavy exhale from behind him, “Alex…” Miles praised, and the slighter body crawled forward slightly, encouraging the man to be behind him, atop the bed. 

When Alex felt the mattress dip under him he hummed, his anxiety holding a determined simmer, barb wire around his neck - instantly cut off when he felt the tip of a craved length contact his hole.

“Ohh…” he shivered, his knuckles whitening as he strangled the linen. “Babeh...want it rough.” He authorised drawlingly, his thighs spreading in a heated plea as Miles replied in a groan, his short nails biting into Alex’s waist.

Alex hit a beautiful note as his partner sank himself into the keening boy, his body chewing up the pleasure entering it in a painfully slow motion.

As the man’s cock was absorbed by Alex, Miles hunched himself over the slighter man, feeling his chest touch Alex’s curving back as he became fully immersed.

Alex’s eyes squinted in pleasure, his lips parted in a lazy pant at having such a feeling crawl inside his awareness, macheteing the pain away. He angled his head off-center as Miles peppered worshiping kisses over his shoulder, moaning lowly into Alex’s mouth when they meet. The kiss was slow and untidy, Alex’s hand came up to clutch Miles’s hair, keeping him in place as their tongues played. 

Alex broke it, bursts of tingles soaking his cock, up to the sparks of pleasure Miles had left over his lips. 

He lowered his head, “hard.” He added to the evening’s itinerary, the coldness that had boarded him backstage refusing to dissipate. 

Alex’s back snapped straight when a set of teeth sank into his hip, sucking in a breath before rolling his body in tribute to the act.

He’s put out of his misery when the cock resting inside him is languidly retracted, that pulling sensation crashing through his arousal.

Alex holds his breath. And then, is all at once choking it back out as Miles follows orders - cracking back into him, the man’s pelvis slapping mutely into Alex’s asscheeks as his fingers claim those hips. 

The thrusts comence in inform order, slower at first, swiftly built into a sweetly cruel remedy for Alex’s worries. 

“Fuck…” he grits almost angrily into his forearm, scrunching his face in pleasure as the pain stinging his morals is penetated simunlatiously. “Y-yes…” Alex sighs as Miles takes over his blue reality, thrusting into him as hard as Alex wants to punch Julian - a thought that comes afterwards.

The plunges into Alex become harsher, Miles’s hands pulling the man back onto his cock possessively. Alex feels the curve of Miles’s thickness brushing against his prostate, electrocuting him. Even so, Alex needed more, to down is sorrows with the drink of attention. 

“Miles... t-touch me.” He breathed ruggedly, his chest heaving as they rocked back and forth in sharp movements. 

As he feels his partner pull in closer, Alex croaked in relief when Miles’s hand circled his bobbing cock, this grip firm and owning. 

It’s only when Miles begins tugging at him, and his face tenses in pleasure, that Alex discovers the tears trekking down his flushed cheeks, the hot beads dropping to his hands under him. 

It was humiliation that billowed through Alex, and he squeezed his vision shut, his sobs of pleasure morphing with the ones he couldn’t explain. 

But it felt good to cry. 

The sweet sensation engulfing his cock sends pressure through Alex’s body, his toes curling in a sharp buzz of revelry, his muscles seizing up in utter thrill.

His body pools with suspense when Alex feels his orgasim nearing him, his hips bouncing as he throws his head up, openly mewling and moaning through his gaping mouth. 

He feels Miles’s strikes pick up pace, the hold he has on Alex taking a saviage friction.

“Yer gonna come?” Miles huffs through his chest, bending over to feel the sweating skin of Alex against his body. 

“Uhh…” is Alex’ blubber as the waterfall between his eyes rules him, he nods fanatically to Miles’s question, curving his arm upwards to hold the other boy close - Miles’ chest to his own shivering spine.

Alex bucks desperately into the man’s hand, bellowing out in ecstasy as he spills over Miles’s fingers, his cock burning in euphoric rapture. “Miles, Miles, Miles…” he finds himself reciting in a mantra-like plead, his climatic high ribboning it’s way through him. Alex’s head drops in exhaustion, tears of collaborative feelings drying over his cheeks, down his neck and chest. 

The renewing thrusts immediately jerk his body awake, “me too, uh, fuck…” Miles grits before he’s emptying himself inside Alex, an arm hooking under his body to pull the boy close, hips stilling as he released himself.

The man comes with a low groan, his frame draping over Alex as he litters the smaller body in kisses, his girth twitching inside Alex.

“Jesus, that was...fuck.” Miles breathed as he pushed his bangs from his eyes, still clothing Alex’s form in his. “You,” Miles exhaled into Alex’s shoulder blade, pressing his lips to the skin, “are so  _ fucking _ beautiful.” 

Alex sighed weightlessly, however, his throat caught the breath to make it sound like a wounded whimper. He blinked through foggy eyes down at Miles’s hands that pressed over his. 

When he couldn’t bring himself to respond verbally, Alex inched his head to find his lover’s lips, pulling him into a bruising kiss. 

Miles groaned as they broke off, then, seeming to have noticed the waterworks Alex couldn’t keep at bay, caressed Alex’s cheek concerningly. Running his finger down the journey of a passed tear, Miles furrowed his brows, asking gently, “is everything okay, Aly?” 

He was nodding before he even heard Miles’s query, the cloak of treachery he’d fastened earlier had been shed. “I, yeah, I’m okay.” He breathed, “just got a bit caught up in it.” Alex was slipping his tongue past Miles’s lips before the lad could pry any further. He could sleep this reality off. 

2

Could he call it a relapse? Was that what this panicked fever could be compared to - addiction? Something he’d need to climb over? It seemed too impossible anyways. He’d been crumbled by the hands of someone Alex so honestly thought he’d defeated from his attention, his concern. 

But the blade of Julian’s words had gotten him once again, and so it goes, Alex’ kingdom had fallen...only to be rebuilt by another power. But he couldn’t just fuck Miles whenever he ached like that - though it was a nice picture - a more permanent remedy seemed in order. Not that he had any clue what he’d reach for next.

Under the covers, strapped to the bed by Miles’s arm along his chest, Alex finds sleep escaping him once more. 

They’d pushed themselves into a tired space, both falling into each other in exhaustion and while Alex had gotten a few hours in, he’d rushed to the surface with a gasp of unstirred air. That was what he got for falling asleep with an unwon battle puncturing his mind. 

Studying the man’s mushed, pillow sunken face, Alex felt the upturn of his lips in a silent smile. Such a beautiful view Miles was when he slept. 

Soon enough, the confines of bedsheets become overwhelming, and Alex’s hand reaches for his lover’s arm, gently undoing himself from the other man’s capture. Alex slips from the sheets, reminded of his nudity when the cool air kisses his legs. As the boy carefully lifts the duvet over his empty spot - as if covering his tracks - he brings the sheet up to Miles’s shoulders snuggly. 

As Alex pads across the room to seek clothing, he dug through his shedded jacket pockets for cigarettes. Plucking one and catching it between his lips, Alex tugged on a pair of pants and a shaggy tee, collecting his lighter as he tiptoed towards the glass balcony door.

Something specific flashes over Alex’ eyes, something almost psychical grabs at him when he spots the guitar again. Still reclined against a shadowed wall, right  _ there _ , it’s presence seemed to tease Alex - shout at him. The boy flared his nostrils in a steadying breath, spying the slumbering man over his shoulder cautiously. 

Before Alex could gather a tangible reason, or wonder  _ why now  _ of all times, he’s reaching for the acoustic, absently slipping his lighter into a pocket - cig secured between molars.

As he held the instrument, noting the instant feeling of exhale through his entire being,  Alex gently ran a finger down the strings. Something warm swarmed his chest as he lightly strummed and E, completely forgetting the man sleeping across the room. 

Flinching as Miles made a sleepy groan, Alex sighed in quiet relief when he stirred no further. Frowning downwardly to the guitar, Alex bit his lip nervously, barely deciding it would accompany him out onto the balcony. 

Sliding the door shut, Alex settled over a cushioned chair, the softness to the wind sighing around him. He positioned the guitar over his lap, simply regarding its place there before procuring his lighter, enlivening the tobacco before he set the dainty fuse over a low glass table. 

Puffing around the smoke absentmindedly, Alex curled one hand around the guitar's neck, finding an A major easily. He slung his other arm over the curved body, prodding the strings in another strum with the pad of his thumb, sighing when he felt the rush he’d felt inside ring through him again. He squeezed his eyes shut, chuckling softly between his grinning teeth. 

Alex tapped his ash-ended cigarette over the tray, placing it back home before he resumed his task, dragging his thumb over the nylon gently. 

The temptation to climb the fretboard with a more advanced riff sat in the back of his mind, a tricky journey that never failed to rouse his heart rate. Deciding reluctantly against straining himself, Alex settled on an oldie but goodie. Something he could play forever.

_ Blackbird singing in the dead of night… _

He’d learnt this tune so young, he saw himself in his youth, before his destiny had kicked in. 

_ Take these broken wings and learn to fly… _

His heart poured some horrible feeling akin to true love through Alex’ body, and he could feel his affection for everything amplify. 

He might’ve spent hours out there, hunting through the mental tablatures stored in his memory. 

Flying through possibly every Beatles track released, Alex soon merged into reacquainting his fingers with plucking, electing a classic of Cohen’s as his digits pulled and released around the honey of sonet. 

When he finally lifted his enthralled head, it wasn’t to the spill of sunrise, but the shadow of Miles looming over him. He hadn’t even heard the door sliding open, too lost in the magic he’d summoned between his hands. Alex’ attention rolled upwards, eyes wide, as if he’d just returned from a conference with Lennon himself. 

“Did I wake you?” Alex asked apologetically, blinking up at Miles who stood wrapped up in a hotel dressing gown. He remained quiet, a wondrous observation etched on his face and when Alex addressed his name, Miles only half-heartedly snapped out of it. 

Smiling attentively down at the boy, the lad shook his head, “s-sorrey, I joost - erm…” he still seemed distant in that pleasant emotion, “wot...wot ye playin’?”

As Miles took the seat next to Alex, pulling it in close, the boy relayed his early rise. He held the guitar close and went over the pieces he remembered and the ones he couldn’t - laughing lightly when he told Miles he felt like he’d grown back a limb. 

When Miles swooped in to press a kiss to his cheek meaningfully, Alex scoffed and asked smirkingly, “wot was tha’ for?” As he leaned into Miles’ space, taking in the soft half-moons curved under his sleepy eyes, the softness to his face.

“Couldn’t ‘elp it.” Miles whispered into their little enclosure, “I joost...I weren’t sure I’d see you with one of those in yer lap ever again.”

Alex bit his lip, exhaling slowly. “Yeh...me too.” He murmured, eyes bonding to his bare feet in deep thought. He shut his sight when a hand settled over his cheek, humming when Miles pressed a kiss to his temple. “Play me summat.” He requested, pulling Alex in for a quick peck beforehand. 

The boy giggled through his smiling teeth, “wot you in the mood for?”

3

Their flight was midday or thereabouts, so the two spent the morning packing - or more accurately - Alex was perched over a tool, forced into serenading  Miles as the other lad packed their things for them.

“ _ Miles _ , let me help.” He insisted countless times, met by the lad’s ever deflecting - “sit yer perfect arse back down,” always followed by another request, all wrapped in their mingling laughter. 

Alex cradled the instrument in his arms as if the golden product of his own misery, his way back to sanity, the pearl through the pain. 

The flight home was beyond exhausting. Their layover was delayed, so they spent four hours cuddling inside airport lounges, that was the memorably nice part - accidentally nodding off on the shoulder of Miles’s plush coat, turning pink later on when the photos surface. 

The moment they’re home and through the door, they’re dropping luggage carelessly to the floor and dragging themselves to bed. 

Alex attempts to pull Miles’s boots off after extracting his own, as the lad is out stone cold. He flops to the mattress, shimmying up beside Miles. He smiles at his dozing face, kissing his nose before whispering a thank you for the week, soon falling under himself. 

 

A week later finds Miles and Alex furniture shopping, something neither imagined themselves hating so little. Miles arm circles the slighter’s waist as they exchange snobby opinions over styles, “I like  _ this  _ one.” Alex pointed out, watching for Miles’s defiance as he raised his brows. The lad nodded simply, “yeah, that one’s... _ nice _ .” 

Alex frowned at him, “wot? You don’t like it?” He smirked up at Miles, leaning into their embrace. The man opened his mouth to speak, but was saved by the sound of Alex’s ringtone. 

The boy narrowed his eyes at Miles as he lifting the device to his ear, missing the caller ID for the better, this time round. “This is Alex.” He said, mindlessly puckering his lips for Miles to kiss, which he did, relieving their make-believe tension.

“Alex! It’s Nick.” His friend greeted, his voice a little too high to go unnoticed. Alex broke off from Miles, pointing to the phone and mouthing out Nick’s name, to which Miles nodded, easing back into his browsing. 

“Hey, man, how you goin’?” Alex wondered, playing with a price tag as he spoke. 

“Good, yeah. ‘ow was the ‘oliday?” The bass player asked, clearly making small talk around his plotted ambush. Alex smiled, playing along, “yeah, good, thanks…” he had decided against mentioning the music he’d been twirling through ever since that evening, praying to god this wasn’t a fluke. 

“Uh, ‘ow’s things on yer end?” He returned, watching Miles shuffle through a crate of cushions further down the bedding isle. 

“Yeah, alreigh’...uh, look... they guy’s and I were thinking…” at last, Alex thought humorously. He piked up his brows expectantly to the man he couldn’t see, “yes?” He encouraged - almost there Nick. 

“Well, it’s halloween next week? And we were thinkin’ you an’ Miles, you could throw a wee shindig?”

“A - a party?” Alex gaped, shooting Miles a look as he’d caught his attention. “Wait, why us?” He chuckled, staring down to the floor when Nick sputtered, “well, I - we - were thinkin’ it’d be best at yours…?” Nick trailed off and Alex shook his head in disbelieving humor, his friend cleared his throat, “I mean we could have it ’ere...with my senior citizen neighbours that file complaints if I so much as sneeze too loud.” His point was clear and Alex laughed through the line, gasping softly when Miles came up from behind, wrapping Alex in his arms. 

“Wot is it?” Miles whispered secretively, eyes on the phone. Alex pressed the cell to his chest, “halloween party.” He murmured with remaining bafflement, the intonation suggesting an underlying question. Miles’s face lit up, brows lifting expectantly, “a party?” He beamed, “at ours?” 

When Alex nodded Miles slapped his hands together, “yes! Let’s do it!” He grinned, “ask Nick if he- oh just gimme the phone-” he butted in before swiping the mobile from Alex. 

The boy chuckled with a shake of his head, spotting a frame he quite liked as Miles and Nick exchanged merrily. 

As Alex’s eyes all but bulged to the price of a frame he was examining,  he caught fragments of what Miles and the other lad were chatting about. His head perked up when Miles answered Nick’s question as to what there were currently up to, “shopping for a new bed.” He mentioned as he spied Alex’s shift, head cocking back slightly when the boy shook his head warningly at Miles.

The man took little notice to Alex’s pantomime protests, chuckling and frowning as he focused on Nick’s voice. “What?” He said into the receiver, and Alex made suspenseful eyes at him. “The old one? Oh it broke.” He informed Nick, to which Alex made an annoyed squeak to, mouthing a ‘shut up’ to him - knowing where any further advances to this conversation would lead.  

The side of Miles’s lip upturned knowingly, echoing Nick’s question sent from the other end; “what happened to it?” 

Alex glared sharply, awaiting a confirmation he’d without a doubt slap Miles for. The man turned his back to Alex when he snickered, “we broke it.” 

Alex gasped, turing Miles by his shoulder to rip the phone from him, only to catch O’Malley’s joshing cackles of laughter ringing through the speaker. Alex scoffed, holding the phone away from his face, “fuckin’  _ children _ .” He grumbled, shoving the device back into Miles’s possesion, huffing back to his shopping. 

Miles laughed lightly, pulling the mobile to his ear as he and Nick let off the banter in favour of party planning. Once he’d managed to get Alex to talk to him again, the boy had okayed the event, admitting he was more than in the mood to let off some steam.

When Miles had hung up and held out the phone for Alex, the boy swiped it back, tucking the ill will thing away. “M’sorrey, love.” Miles smirked, and Alex deadpanned, “yer smiling.” He pointed out with his finger, “sorrey people don’t smile.” He was having a go at him of course, aside from the actual fact that they’d killed Alex’ bed with their enthusiasm, it was simply fun to taunt the man. 

“Dunno, Mi…” he mused when Miles remained silent, “this could be it for us.” He pursed his lips around smirk, crossing his arms patronizingly. 

Miles giggled under his breath, nodding remorsefully. “I see.” He played along, “and there’s nothing I can do to fix this?” Eyes raking over Alex’s in-no-way-sexy house clothes, as if he wore nothing. 

Alex hummed, thinking on it. “Let’s buy a bed, an’ then we’ll talk.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a song by Godsmack, listen and head-bang your neck into irreversible damage. Orrrr check out Richard Hawley's new song, hehe. <3


	17. Stairway To Heaven.

1 

The days leading up to Alex and Miles’ October festivity were spent preparing. 

The number of themed decoration stores they’d all but raided was concerning, though in the end, it was Alex who put a stop to his and Miles’ spree. 

They had chosen to store the obscene amount of supplies in the guest room, that of which had regressed to its old purposes; now that Miles had to more or less pry the guitars free of Alex’ hold, the music-room had been unpacked and set back up. 

Although they had yet to combine their sounds in audio recording, the two had more than once spent an entire day happily cooped up, formulating lyricless duo tunes. 

Simply pouring chords into others, cringing or whooping in tribute to what fit what didn’t, nothing was committed nor concrete. It was with innocent experiment that the two played as Alex was still getting his feet back on the ground.

It was liberating, to know that nothing had left him, just perhaps kept quiet as he mended himself. 

“So, when, uh, when are ye gonna tell em?” Miles wondered one late night into jamming, the lad’s favourite Fender Telecaster settled over his folded knees. Neither of their guitars were plugged in - as the last time Alex checked, it was nearing 1am. The boy looked up from where he was screwing a bulb into the lamp head, attempting to soften the light for their more nocturnal sessions. 

His head fell back in a generous groan when the the thing refused to work, “tell who?” he sighed, turning to Miles with an utterly defeated expression. 

The guitarist smiled sympathetically to Alex’ minor - though completely justified - tantrum, “the lads?” He answered carefully, “ye know, ‘bout yer…” he softly swayed his head in a pondering tone, “-musical revive?” He smiled in conclusion, regarding Alex with the tilted head of a curious bird. 

The boy raised his brows in reaction, he opened his mouth and then closed it again as if a fish without verbs. “ _ Uh _ …” he began in a high, uncertain pitch, his posture almost flinching. “I...I dunno know if I…” he trailed off, his eyes searching for something to occupy his attention with - he resolved on revisiting the bastard lamp. 

Alex crouched by the bed to assess the powerpoint, crawling under and scoffing when he found Miles’s phone charger occupying the plug. Pulling it out none too gently, Alex tossed it across the floor in the lad’s general direction. “I don’t know.” He grunted, “I...I hadn’t thought about it.” He lied, finding the end of the lamp’s power-chord, straining on all fours to connect the port. He flicked the switch and hallelujah.

Still in his crawling posture, Alex glanced over his shoulder to catch Miles’s eyes on his ass. 

Rolling his eyes, the boy caught the man’s attention on the third try of his name. 

“S-sorrey, love.” He laughed, looking up at an interesting wall as Alex shimmied out from under the day-bed, “can’t think -  _ talk,”  _ he hastily corrected, “lookin’ at you like tha’.” He leaned over the guitar in his lap to retrieve that charger from the rug under him. 

Alex scoffed, brushing down his slacks as he stood. “Yeh, well, you don’t see me jumpin’ ye everytime yer wearing a pair of shorts, do ya?” He countered pointedly, smirking as his hands found his hips, “not very gentlemanly, Kane.” 

Miles was deep enough in this relationship to know what the use of his surname meant, and he tried not to let it grope him too severely. Clearing his throat, the man set his instrument aside, resting it up against an amp before opening his arms for Alex in a come-hither gesture.  

The boy snorted, rolling his eyes once more with a relenting smirk as he crossed his arms. “Inviting me to sit in yer lap is only proving me point, Mi.” He pointed out, shaking his head to himself as he neared the man. 

Taking a seat, Alex wrapped his arms around Miles’ neck with an unimpressed look on his face. He’d of course had a snarky remark ready to go, but Alex was easily engulfed in a pausing, warm sense of comfort, and the taunt was mindlessly lost. 

“I’m worried about it.” He murmured, busing his fingers with the tag at the back of Miles’s collar, “telling them, I mean. A-and I…” he laughed nervously, “I don’t even know why.”

Miles gently pulled Alex out to arm’s length, levelling him with a close, non-judging look. “That’s okay, babe.” Tucking a stray curl behind the boy’s ear, Miles gave him a small smile, “you don’t have to know why, an’ you don’t have to tell anyone anythin’.” 

“No, I...I  _ want _ to, but,” he sighed, shaking his head softly, “what if it’s ...different? What if  _ I’m _ different?” His gaze fell to Miles’ collarbone, as eye contact had once more become a daring feat. 

“Sweet’eart, all of this - this change? It’s just growth, yeah?” Miles bit his lower lip, perhaps as a way to deal with his own turmoil, brows drawn in concentration over Alex. “Yer just...yer a new kind of you, love. One the lads would climb a fookin’ mountain to play with. Hm?” 

Alex snickered lightly into the nape of Miles’ neck, “I know. I know yer righ’.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Miles’s jaw before inclining to rest his cheek over Miles’. “It’s joost, difficult.” Miles tightened the embrace, humming into Alex’s shoulder, “I know. Just...be patient with yerself, love.” 

The boy nodded into Miles’ body, pulling back to brush his lips over the other’s. “When did you get so wise, eh?” He smirked, turning his head in query as he ran his thumb over Miles’ cheekbone. The man chuckled, “yer rubbin’ off on me, that’s all.” They laughed in their huddled liaison for a beat before Alex sighed, “alrigh’, I’m gonna,” he said, climbing off of Miles’ legs, “take a shower.” He smoothed out his tee, looking down at Miles pointedly. 

The lad blinked up at him, nodding, “okay, love.” 

“An’ yer joining me.” 

2

Despite the elevation to Alex’s mood as of late, the boy knew he wasn’t bulletproof, and that he had things to deal with...problems to dissect and pull from the abstract. 

So he decided against skipping his sessions with Javis - his ever sharply dressed shrink - and chose to stick to the - often uncomfortable - case of his mind. 

Considering the utter cluster-fuck that was Alex’ inner monologue, he felt he owed it to himself. 

He wanted help. Simply figuring out he might need it was a battle in itself, and if this was the road closest to Alex’ encryption, it seemed worth the stomach ache. 

The office was the same, the pale primary walls and squishy rug under Alex’s boots, the rather arctic coolness the air-conditioner exhaled. 

Alex scanned the low table between himself and his therapist, the way he had done so during their first session. Noting the stuffed basket of panic gadgets, the leaflets and brochures, Jarvis’ steaming cup of tea. Like it’d all sat waiting for him.

“So,” The older lad began friendly, watching Alex through his thick-lens glasses, styled with a welcoming smile. “It’s been a little while since our last chat. How have you been?” His tone was sensationally smooth, and Alex concludes he must have been trained to acquire such a soothing pitch. 

The boy swallowed, nodding his head as if the yellow light before speech. “Better.” He answered in all honesty, his voice a calm, assured tone as he smiled down at his entwined fingers. 

As he bounced his knee in unconscious nervousness, Alex’ mental-reel clicked over to Miles’s bed-ruffled hair this morning. His mind summoning a quick holiday from its current workload. Miles’ sleep-croaked voice that did something to Alex. Everything soft and nude in the aftermath of rigorousness.  

Miles had dropped him off, offering tentatively to stay in the waiting room, to which Alex had politely declined. Something to his offer struck Alex with a stroke of shame. A guilt out of nowhere for being here. 

Was he just wasting Miles’ and Jarvis’ time? It’d probably just be easier if he kept his problems to himself. 

He took a stilling breath, telling himself that whatever he felt was fine, but should probably be taken with a grain of salt. 

“That’s good to hear Alex.” The older man commended, snapping Alex’s rubberband mind back here. The boy smiled up at him, humming a soft sound of agreement. 

“But, I mean…” he began without an end prepared, “I’m still, y’know... _ here _ .” He pronounced with the upturn of his palms. Maybe it didn’t sound as rude as he’d heard, Alex shrugged with an amending chuckle, wondering why humor framed his troubles so wonderfully. 

The Dr however, laughed genuinely to, “yes,” he nodded understandingly. “But you’re here for a reason,” he lightly asserted, taking a tip of Earl Grey. “Even if...figuring out why is our purpose here, it’s your decision in what we talk about .” 

The younger man nodded once more, as if a puppet void of a voice box. Clearing his throat, Alex sat up slightly, he’d have to move in order to get anywhere. 

“Right, well...uh, last time we spoke, I were ‘aving sleep an’ chest problems? That’s, uh, that’s all gone.” He informed with unintentional meekness, though this was quite the personal win. Javis picked up on this, lighting up with a grin as he inclined for further elaboration. 

Alex inhaled through his smirk, basking in this for a beat. “Yeah, I...I dunno, found something.”  _ Someone.  _ “That just, pulled me out, I guess.” His cheeks bloomed a deep shade to the thought, perhaps it was the blatant truth behind it that slapped his face pink. “I know I have, things...things I gotta deal with. But…”

“But you’re aloud to enjoy this, Alex.” His therapist pressed gently, “it’s important to appreciate the victories in this process.” Jarvis still cradled that breezy, attentive tone, still held his little clipboard from last time, Alex noticed - and just a faint echo of worry hit him.

Another nod.

“So, how about we take this chance to figure out where we go from here?” The lad suggested easily, opening up his file of miscellaneous Alex-notes. The younger lad’s eyes lingered over the sight, blinking up to his therapist with an affirmative reply. 

Settling into his seat, he menatlly buckling up for the following hour. 

Despite Alex deciding to cut his belly open with regards to Julian, their session passed rather uncomplicatedly, it took a great deal of effort to keep Miles out of it, but he did. 

Miles was too good for Alex’s warped professions. 

“Do you know if he’s getting the help he needs?” Jarvis carefully inquired when their conversation circled Julian, “with this…” he said, checking his notes, “substance abuse?” He glanced up at Alex who fiddled with a toy from the basket, a button ornamented cube that was rather therapeutic.

“Um...he…” deep, deep, _ deep _ breath, “called me ‘bout two weeks ago.” 

Alex wondered if it was possible to recall an event without thinking about it, but his theorem crumbled when the sheer pitch of Jules’ drunken spews came back to him, lifting his heart rate almost habitually.   
Though Alex’ eyes were on his lap, he could feel Jarvis nodding above his head. “Is that something you’d like to discuss?” He asked in an even tone, and Alex lifted his gaze to find a safe sense of option to the situation. He blew a breath out, crossing one leg over the other.

“I…” he grabbed the bridge of his nose, “don’t love him.” He breathed, letting the first of this admission sink in. “Yet, I...freak out when he does this shit to me.” 

The therapist sat up a little straighter, and Alex noticed the top that had formed over the lad’s tea, feeling rather guilty for keeping him from it.

 “Alex,” he leveled easingly, “you know, what this ex of yours in doing...it would affect  _ anyone _ .” He gave Alex a small smile of some honest comfort, and the boy exhaled in punctuation of his mutness, nodding anew. 

“I know, I...it…” he shook his head with a self-deprecating chuckle, “love is strange.” He selected with a sigh, pondering it, the way the scraps of his and Jules’ relationship still cut him. The tango had died, and yet the love Alex had so completely felt was still haunting him. 

“It is.” Jarvis agreed, slightly twisting his lip in thought, “but the absence of it is stranger, wouldn’t you say?” 

To this, Alex chuckled affirmatively, “uh huh.” He agreed like the millennial he was. 

3

Though  _ this _ particular mental concourse had gone well - a few new perspectives put into play - Alex found himself beyond drained as he left the clinic, pulling out a cigarette as he dialed up. 

“Hullo? This is Matt.” The lad greeted, the sound of his voice instantly easing Alex’ posture.

“Good-day Mathew, this is Alex.” He chidded merrily, stepping into his uber. Alex gave the older driver a polite wave and smile, buckling in as the gentleman pulled into traffic.

“Alex! Mate, if this is ‘bout tha’ pint glass I broke while ye were away-” his friend fussed, butted in by Alex with a scandalous - “you  _ what? _ ‘ow the fook did we not notice tha’?” He giggled comedically, gazing through the window as the passing traffic was smudged by speed. Matt sucked in a chuckling breath, “I’m replacing it I swear!” Music to his ears that ridiculous chortle was.

Alex laughed lightly as he shook his head fondly, “yeah sure ye will.” He groaned with a sigh, “anyways, just calling to see what yer doin’.”

“Wot, righ’ now?” Matt asked rather incredulously and the boy could imagine the narrowed brows, the spreading smile. “Yeah, righ’ now.” He grinned as the driver turned into Matthew’s area, the need to see and drink with his friend only heightening. 

Perhaps it was that he and Matt had scarsely had any one on one time to chat, or maybe it was just that Alex needed to get wasted with his friend. Either way, he couldn’t hide the grin.

“Watchin’ shitty telly with old mate Jameson.” His friend droned, the sound of a swig sounding off.

Alex scoffed, “that right? How far in?”

“Maybe two thirds, ‘alfway to being pissed. Why you ask grass’opper?” Alex pressed the phone screen to his chest, murmuring a thanks to the driver as he stepped over the curb. 

“Because,” He began in a proper tone, “you’re in a sharing mood I’ve decided.” 

Alex’ knuckles met the door in a rhythmic tone, a knocking pattern Matt would know it to be him. 

“You  _ didn’t _ !” Matthew shouted into the phone disbelievingly, “you little  _ sneak _ !” He hollered, soon tearing the door open with the mobile still to his ear. 

Alex laughed open mouthed at the look on his friend’s face, tucking his phone away before being pulled into a grizzly hug. “What am I gonna do with you?” Matthew half-way-drunk-enly cackled as he steered Alex into his flat, the sound of the door clicking shut behind them. 

“Gimme some of _ that _ .” He answers to the question, hitting the couch with a full body flop, scooping up the bottle from the floor. 

“Are we celebrating, or drowning our sorrows this evening?” His friend inquired jokingly, hitting Alex’s legs before the boy shuffled up to make room for him.

“Neither...both. I don’t know.” He groaned, the pause in movement causing Alex to realise just how tired his body was. He flipped onto his back, his feet in Matt’s lap as he took a swig of whiskey. 

“It’s...can we...can we watch a film?” He never quite understood why distractions could be so good. Maybe it didn’t matter. Shuffling to sit up, Alex pulled his knees to his chest.

“Y-yeah, course we can.” His friend nearly stuttered, whether from the booze or sudden shift Alex didn’t know, pulling the controller out from under himself. “Let’s see…” he surveyed, flicking through the channels. Alex watched the screen flinch through colour and sound, grabbing a cushion to squish in his lap. 

“So ‘ow you been?” Matt asked conversationally, and Alex flopped back across the couch with a groan, dropping his legs lazily over Matt’s lap again - earning an annoying sound. “Busy.” He hummed, blinking up at the wall, clutching the whiskey. 

“Oh yeah?” His friend asked, stealing the bottle from where Alex held it to his chest. The boy snickered, “yeah. ‘Specially with this party Miles and I are apparently throwin’.” He chuckled to himself, reminiscing with fondness towards the bags of Halloween shit in the music room. 

“Oh righ’, yeah got me costume all sorted-”

“Costume?” Alex gaped, balancing up on his elbows, “shit.” He’d completely forgotten.

“Uh  _ yeah,  _ Al.  _ Halloween _ party?” Matt spelled out, laughing teasingly at his friend as he flicked through channels. Alex shook his sunken head with an I’ll be damned chuckle, “guess I’l ‘ave to see wot Mi’s planning on wearin’.” He concluded, imagining Miles’ legs in such scandalous fabric, shaking the thought off - or merely filing it away for later. 

“Maybe you two can be PB&J, eh?” Matthew poked, rewarded my a hurtled couch cushion at his face. 

The laughing emanating either side of the sofa overrules the telly, “we are  _ not _ matching our costumes.” Alex huffed, pulling himself into a sitting position beside Matt, taking the emptying bottle when Matt hands it over 

“Wotever you say peanut butter.” Matt chides, letting off the worn button of his remote as a Wes Anderson film flashes on. The saturation and reversed sense of era tell Alex this, and he hums in favour of the movie, settling into the couch. 

 

Two microwavable popcorn bags, three texts to Miles and a bounty of bottes behind them, Alex gets up to pee.  

“Wot-” he cuts himself off with a drunken hiccup, “did I miss?” 

“The bird without the finger loves the tennis player, I  _ think _ .” The potted lad draped over his sofa recites in an uneven tone, Alex nods his head of filling weight and he giggles, “‘kay.” He kicks Matt’s legs out of the way before he drops back into his sunken crater of a spot.

He pulled up the knitted blanket to his hips, his legs tucked in a rested-mermaid position. Alex blinked at the colourful screen that shot light over the dark living room. staring down at his shadowed, locked hands in his lap.

“I, uh, I started playin’ again...writin’ too.” He uttered into the musky, male, alcoholic distance between them. 

“You _ are _ ?” His friend blurted a second after processing Alex’ news, head snapping in his direction, his whole body rotating excitedly. 

Alex giggled nervously, blinking between his friend and the telly. “Yeah, I guess I just…” he mumbled rather dreamily, eyes raking over the screen, “outgrow me silence.” Maybe that was reaching, but it was something he liked the idea of circling back to. His eyes flicked back to his friend whose grin almost blinded Alex, his entire expression soberly possessed by joy. “I -  _ wow _ \- I’m, I’m so happy for you Alex.” He breathed in an almost disbelieving congratulations, “I - I’m so proud of you... _ oh _ !” He gasped in realisation, “I know - shots!” 

 

It’s beyond midnight when Matt is ushering Alex into a ride, both utterly pissed as the boy’s friend somehow sits him inside the ride, barely managing to get through to the driver through his own smog. 

“You boys celebratin’ summat?” The lad asks cheerily, smiling in the nearview at Alex as the boy watched Matt’s silhouette shrink and shrink. 

The car turns off and he’s gone. Alex sighs through a toothy grin at no one. “Yeah…” he replies to the driver, “yeah we are.” 

He checks his phone to find three missed calls from Miles:

_ Beep: Hey love, know you said ye’d be ‘ome late but it’s nearin’ two?” _

Another half-hour later:  _ Alex, I’m naked, come ‘ome - haha, only joking, ‘ave fun love. _

And finally the final, from a few minutes ago:  _ Love, I can’t find the...oh there it is! Don’t drink yerself to death, nighty night!  _

Alex smiled to himself, tucking the phone away, trying to stay awake as the driver opened a chat about the weather that supplied him with a crutch in that. 

He gets home to Miles out front, clad in his cardigan and a bright smile when Alex appears. “‘Ave a good one mate.” The driver calls over his shoulder, which Alex returns in his, albeit groggily drunk state. He waved the driver off - because Alex becomes overly friendly when he’s wasted, hiccuping in fright when Miles swoops in to cuddle him from behind, embracing Alex in his wooly hold. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you, love.” The man chuckles, kissing his neck. The scent of a body free of whiskey against his own cooled Alex’ buzz, and he melted against Miles, his head dropping to the other man’s shoulder. 

“ _ Alex.”  _ Rang Miles’ voice a fourth time when his eyes slipped shut, “I’m awake!” He bleated, spinning out of Miles’ hold, attempting to tackle the porch steps.

As Alex stumbled upwards, slipping more than once, Miles held out his hands as an offering.

“I can do it.” He hisses, swatting Miles away before the lad scooped him up, throwing Alex over his shoulder. Closing out the cold air behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title : Led Zeppelin !


	18. what is and what should never be:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for spacey updates - my writing his making me wanna die a bit but hey.   
> so this chapter is an interesting/bipolar one. yeah.   
> this is me warning you on s e x u a l content and - as always - angst!   
> if anyone’s still reading this, I apologise for the shite update schedule (in that there is no schedule) ...enjoy!

1

The finished result of their decorating was a sight both men’s noses were high in recognition of, both equally pumped for the nearing evening of festivities. 

The shifted furniture gave the flat’s living area a renewed openness, the beams and seemingly all known corners were iced in orange and black streamers, every conceivable expanse garnished with bowls filled to the brim in candy. 

To Alex’ contained relief, the gathering wasn’t quite as open invitation as the parties of his earlier years. He hadn’t been too much of an animal in that regard for a while, and although the lad predicted he’d be emptying the contents of his gut by morning, he enjoyed the idea of a closed-in event.

They’d awoken Halloween morning to each other, Alex curled into Miles’ chest, shivering softly as the bedsheets had melted from the bed during last night’s exchange. 

Groaning when Miles edged out of bed, Alex’ momentary abandon was sated at the sight of a bare body reentering the bedroom, two steaming mugs in hand.

As Alex sat up, he summoned a thick sheet upwards as he crossed his legs, feeling the low ache in his thighs - an answer to his and Miles’ Halloween Special the previous evening. 

“Here we are.” The beverage bearer hummed, carefully creaking back into bed, passing Alex his brew before settling under the reconciled covers. 

“Coffee?” Alex sniffed in a teasing analysis, smiling sleepily up at Miles from under the shallow sip he was taking. 

The lad smirked, “figured we got a big day a’ead of us.” He explained, taking a swig of his own milkness poison. 

Alex croakly hummed in agreement, pulling his legs to his chest, head easily finding Miles’ nearby shoulder. The boy peered down at the two sets of legs under the milky bedsheets, allowing the moment to pause Alex’ ever-tightening yarn ball of a mind. 

Taking short sips of the muddy morning hit, Alex rather drowsley gazed through the open bedroom door, half heartedly listening to Miles’ voice - as lulling as it was in that sleepy hull. His attention is snagged by the gaping door to the music studio down.

Alex’ heart tugged when his memories fell over the track of this past week, all of the sweet treasures he and Miles had conjured through the limbs of their guitars. 

He sighed against the side of Miles’ body, eyes slipping shut in a meditative thanks to all spirits present - most inclusively the man nuzzling his neck. 

They’d slipped out of bed and into a hot shower, scrubbing off last night’s sins as they discussed suitable intoxicants for the upcoming night. 

The first half of the day passed within the in-and-out confines of supermarket candy isles, and liquor stores. They paid little if any attention to offering their guests any observable nutrition, though bought plenty of vegetable based spirits, which admittedly, limited the menu. 

Groaning through the door frame with enough shopping bags in hand that the cab driver had offered to help, the boy’s hit up the pantry for a late lunch, talking on the couch as they inhaled their half-assed meal. 

Eventually five pm rolls in as the guests do, mingling personalities entwine as the auxiliary cord is abused. Artists, academics, loud souls, quiet ones, drinkers, smokers. A number of types dressed to impress, all covered in theatrical costumes and or haunting makeovers. 

Soon it’s the smell of medicinal appliances and tobacco ashtrays that pool the flat. 

Coupled with the burn of tequila and howl of amplifiers, the atmosphere writhes around Alex, his gut full of whatever drink or treat Miles hands him - this hour’s special is something dark, with a tangy finish that makes Alex skip the fruit wedge. 

Throwing the delightful pollution down, Alex’s ethanol-heated cheeks lift in a hard laugh to what Jamie’s just told him. Apparently, the lad been  _ ‘this close’ _ to dressing up as Marylin Manson, which Alex tells him he’d have paid money to see. Instead the guitarist sports snappy suspenders and striped slacks. 

Alex decides that between the tinted-green blonde, and dark shadowed eyes, Cookie makes a good Beetle Juice.

The boy smiles up at his friend who nurses a rum and coke, halfway done or halfway finished, honing that Keaton-esque ease. 

One look over the entirety of Alex’ party would be a sight swept up in wacky characters. From O’Malley’s Edward Scissor hands, to Matt’s psychotic Joker, everyone seemed to have gotten the costume memo. Miles and himself included.

“So,” Nick drawled rather playfully around his glass, taking baby sips. “Is it a metaphor for yer relationship, or?” The sentence might’ve sounded frank, even as suggestive as O’Malley had aspired for, however, he seemed adorably incapable of kicking his goal - which from what Alex could gather, was making a drunken, teasing poke at his and Miles’ costume choices. 

“Good evening, Officer.” Matthew addressed before Alex could open his mouth, joining the group’s discussion as his eyes raked amusedly over his slightest friend’s apparel. 

Alex rolled his eyes, taking a swig of his now-emptied glass before pushing a stinging breath out. The boy decided to - for the nth time - give himself a once over. 

Wondering how cruel it was that the outfit fit so snuggly, Alex peered down at his black boots, the dusty-blue trousers that when followed vertically, ended with a thick belt. Along this buckled leather was a holster containing a plastic dart gun, a phony pepper spray, and of course, the furry-pink handcuffs. As if standard handcuffs weren’t suggestive enough. 

Holding the V shaped glass in his right hand, Alex’ left pushed into his pocket, casually resting inside as the condoms Miles had jokingly stashed in there met his fingers. 

Alex bit his lip, rolling his eyes to both himself and the cop get-up. 

“- oh, is that right, Al?” Matthew chimed in - punctuating a conversation Alex had missed, the words needling through that bubble of thought. 

The boy pursed ice-chilled lips as he lifted his wide eyes to Matthew, “wot?” He called over the speakers that suddenly spewed Black Sabbath, finding Jamie hogging the auxiliary cord when Alex searched for the missing member.

“Oh, Nick were just telling me ‘bout his little theory.” Matthew chided, wrapping an arm around the fellow costumed lad. The soft curls framing Nick’s face swayed as his deep dimples dipped, a flush over his easily intoxicated cheeks when he chuckled with Matt. “Drop it.” Alex thinks he hears the bassist groan, taking a pull of his drink. 

“Hey, hey now Nick scissor ‘ands, you made a fair observation that I merely intend to share with our subject of discussion.” 

Matthew Helders - as Alex had collected through his years of knowing the drummer - became overly articulated when he drank. An interesting symptom Alex often thought to himself.

He narrowed his eyes at his friends, a contemplative smirk tugging at his lips. “Well don’t leave a pig in the dark.” He encouraged drawlingly, snarkily referencing his uniform. 

Matthew clicked his tongue, “well…” the Joker droned, weighing his head from left to right. “Nicholas and I were only speculating that yours and Miles’ costume choices may or may not correlate to your love-life.” 

He scoffed, “an’ ‘ow’s tha’?” The boy humored, though he knew exactly where his friend’s drunken implications were directed. 

His eyes scanned the full living room, the ocean people in bright colour and simultaneous monochrome, finding the orange clad man his sight so craved. 

Miles appeared deep in a conversation with a Where’s Waldo costumed man, his shoulders lifting in enticed conversation and released through a deep-bellied chuckle. 

Alex’s regard was currently caught on the hook of Miles’ costume, or more accurately, it’s link to his own. 

“ _ Y’know _ ,” Matthew inched, intercepting Alex’ casual ogling, “you - the assertive authority,” he formulated teasingly, flicking his brows at Alex’s clothing, as if his case in point. 

Nick nodded in his special - often silent - agreement, continuing the train of thought; “Miles - with his playful rebellion tha’ snags yer attention every time.”

Matthew - because he adores Nick’s rare jabs at anyone - weezes out a barking laugh, squeezing his friend close, “exactly! What he said!” The drummer underlined merrily, scooping up the bottle of vodka atop the bench beside them, replenishing the giggling bassist’s glass.

Alex strained his eyes in yet another eye roll, scoffing in the place of a comeback as his sight ventured in search of Miles again. Only this time the orange jumpsuited lad is already watching him, and Alex’s heart hiccups in that spark of unwatched attention. 

Miles’ eyes are obscurely dark - poetically-dark a romantic might declare. Alex felt he could blame it on the uniform hugging his own arse, or the infinite spilling of drinks, even the fact that having so many people around made the impossible possibility tip over. 

The assessment is macheted away as the prisoner to Alex’s officer is making his nonchalant way over, churning the boy’s heart rate with each long legged stride.

“Oh shit Al, better get them cuffs out!” Nick hollers around a gulp, applauded by Matthew’s cackles.

“ _ Okay _ , and that’s enough vodka for Nick,” Alex decides as he reaches for the man’s glass, his hand easily swatted away by Matt who shoots him an are-you-kidding-me look. To which Alex snorts, opening his mouth in an attempt to remove Nick’s alcohol rights, and therefor preserve the sod’s dignity.

However, this weak effort his shot dead the instant a lanky arm snakes around Alex’ waist, and Miles’ breath hits his neck. Sorry Nick.

“Wot stimulating conversation am I missing out on, then?” The newest member of their circle asserts, taking Alex’ empty glass, replacing it with his own hand. The gesture sends marathons of suspense through the boy, and he squeezes Miles’ heartbeat of a hand knowingly. 

“Nowt.” Matthew burps, “nowt at all.” He grins exclusively under his breath, inwardly but also to Nick who laughs through his quickly emptying glass. 

The lad snorts, his hand on Alex’s waist thuming circles into the clothed skin. Miles’ eyes let off the two men’s classified snickering to direct his attention towards the pretty officer in his hold. The tangerine attired convict asks their friends, as he eyes the snug outfit, “you boys don’t mind if I borrow Alex?” 

The boy’s eyes drop to the floor, his cheeks blooming a shade harsher than a passing woman’s merlot.

Matt rolls his eyes, waving them off. “Yeh, yeh, go on, away with ye!” He announces, topping Nick up yet again as he steers them toward Jamie, who converses with a Wednesday Addams over metal-head issues.

Alex’s chest feels oddly tight, but a good pressure, a knowing twist in his gut as he peers up from under his lashes at Miles. 

The taller lad bites the inside of his cheek in repression, turning to the immediate kitchen bench. 

Miles lets off the boy’s waist to fix the two a pair of drinks as Alex moves closer, leaning his body against the tabletop’s edge. 

“Think we pulled it off.” The officer remarks with honed disinterest, eyes raking over the room.

“I’d say so.” Miles agreed lowly, handing Alex his drink before downing his in one burning go.

Miles’ ale-hazel eyes never leave Alex’ hooded ones for long, they light when Alex plucks the orange wedge from Miles’ drained drink. Nibbling the sweet slice with the odd swipe of his tongue. 

The deep inhale from Miles notifies the boy he can’t be doing wrong, and the taller man pulls his bottom lip back between his teeth, turning the red shade a squeezed pink.

“But…” Miles contemplated, and Alex swears that is exactly where his eyes go, “I think we might’ve forgotten summat.” 

Alex lifted his brows in answer, though maintains that sense of coy detachment. “Oh?”

Miles’ eyes flick over the party oozing comfortably around them, “yeah. Summat in the bedroom.” He came right out and said, which  _ should  _ be as subtle as a gunshot - but is nothing short of a sweet hint from his lips. 

“The bedroom, eh?” Alex tutted, “how forgetful we are.” He feigns a self-deprecating eye roll  _ so _ unnatural that Miles breaks character with a snorting laugh, snagging away Alex’ barely touched drink to rest in abandon alongside his own glass. 

Alex’ own reserved demeanor is shaken off by an excited grin, pursing his lips around a snickering sound as Miles takes him by the hand, piloting them towards the bedroom in question. 

Weaving their cursory way through fading-out bodies and smokey noise, Alex’ pulse ran through him like a motor, the hand enfolded by Miles’ rested burningly snug, the other tingling and numb. 

It isn’t until they’re behind the bedroom door and muffled atmosphere that Alex permits his lungs to take breath. 

He bites his jutted bottom lip, watching Miles within the inches between them as the lad locks the door, the click reverberating through his chattering bones.

As the taller man rotates to face Alex, the boy opens his smiling mouth to deliver some sultry line - the sentiment swiftly sealed along with Alex’ lips as Miles cups his face, summoning the slighter for a bruising kiss. 

Alex frowns at the gasping noise that falls out of his tongue-pried mouth, his hands curling around Miles’ forearms that upscale to the palms over his heated cheeks. 

Sighing, Alex licks his lips when the two halt for a dose of air, both panting softly, both grinning in juvenile unison. 

Miles is the first to break the static silence between them, the hands on Alex’ face grading longingly down the boy’s neck, his exposed arms, lower to clasp trembling hands.  

“Let’s never go back.” Miles dreams, sounding every bit the romantic Alex had come to oblige. Miles’ eyes were deeper now, swimming in the molten likes of intoxication, but it was only a faint cellophane over his attentive orbs, his tending nature. 

Alex smiled a delicate, indulgent look up at Miles, his face aching as punishment for smiling so intensely all night.

“You threw a party…” Alex began in response to Miles’ husked declaration, “...just to lock us away from the guests forever?” He was teasing of course, perhaps veiling his own mirroring emotion; the idea of trapped was so much more digestible when Miles’ hands rubbed at his like that.

Instead of serving a quipped answer, the lad broke into a soft smile, leaning in to peck Alex over his lips before grunting an - “okay, lets see if I can get down on me knees in this thing.” - In glaring reference to the tight apparel clinging to him. 

Stuttering his body down to the carpet, the man smiled stupidly up at Alex in victory. The boy hiccuped in tispy giggles, his fingers sectioning through Miles’ washed hair, thick and umber. His hand trails lower to softly pinch the man’s chin, hailing Miles’ attention.

The man’s eyes flutter shut in Alex’ touch, and he whispers, “you know what my favourite thing ‘bout being here, with you is?” Opening his eyes, Miles’ fingers slowly unfasten Alex’ belt, the undone strap tonguing out as it’s set free. 

Alex has neither the frame of mind nor the wit to offer anything more than the hesitant shake of his head. 

Miles unzips him, eyes trailing up to meet Alex’ gaze. “That I’m here.” He uttertered simply, “and that it’s with you.” 

He’s drunk as a sailor, so why must these words spear so mercilessly through Alex as they do? Ribboning around his body in a euphoric sugarush, his heart hot wax inking through his starchy uniform. 

Alex’ expression must read true to the puzzle inside that he cannot crack. Miles’s chuckles cut him from that pleasant cocoon, and the reality he’s met with is Miles’ perfect, drunk face.

Leaning down with a tongue void of his own vulnerable declarations, Alex kissed Miles - carefully, meaningfully, a long, deep kiss that would require no translation.

“Why are you so good?” Alex breathes into Miles’ mouth when after centuries they part, his fingers curling into the man’s shirt collar, the clenching hold seeming to pause Miles. 

Alex’ horny, drunk entity is putty when possession clouds him like this, pointless thoughts orbiting his head, a violet ring of slow motioned affection that just makes him silly. 

Miles huffed smilingly, covering Alex’ unconsciously white knuckles with his own hands, undoing them so that they hang at his sides.

Miles undoes all precautions keeping him from Alex, revealing the man’s beating pulse at full mast, angry red as his slit pearls over. 

Alex drags out a rugged moan when he feels Miles’ tongue drawing over him, base to tip in a languid, angled stripe. 

The warm pad repeats this torture once more, and Miles groans softly against Alex, his eyes flitting shut. His taste budded weapon hits Alex’ tip, settling over the swollen head, the pretty colour peeking out in flashes from under Miles’ licks. 

The boy’s eyes sweep shut, one set of fingers crooking into Miles’ hair, keeping him docked where Alex most needs him - his other hand grabbing his own tuft as a means of grounding himself. 

”F-fuck.” His lips part, the pleasure climbs inside him, entering Alex’ body to join the load he feels begging to be undone. 

He whimpers out Miles’ name, but it’s a question.

The man gives no indication of a shift until he’s already wrapped his tongue around Alex - as if roping the throbbing muscle into his mouth - and takes him in deep. 

Alex throws his head back with a rough yelp so helpless, so exposed, he’s glad the blaring music still vibrates through his flat.

“Oh, god...” He grits out sharply, his body saturated in colourful ecstasy.

Alex feels himself darting in and out, his cockhead nudging repeatedly at the back of Miles’ mouth, and all he can think about is how much he wants to empty himself - his seed, his tension, his lies, his truths - into Miles’ throat, his body, his soul, everything Alex has had and has yet to touch. 

With a final round of gags on Miles’ end - the coughed hiccups at the back of his mouth clenching around Alex’ sensitive tip - the boy feels himself spilling in a heated, moaned orgasim. 

Letting go a heavy, full chested exhale, he draws himself out from Miles’ spent mouth, his eyes almost crossing at the sight of his cum stringing out with his cock. 

He knives his teeth into his lips, letting go of the man before Miles’ throat rolls down a hard gulp, his head bowing forward pantingly. 

When Miles’ eyes trek upwards they’re shining, blinking dazedly up at Alex and all the boy can do is fall to his own failing knees, hitting the carpeting with a  _ thud _ . 

Alex purses his lips. His used, sensitive length between them as Miles groans into a new kiss. Alex’ hands reach for the jumpsuit zipper. “Mmm...” he inhales - still coming down - smirking darkly, “my turn.”

2

A great deal of their party’s inhabitants had dissipated by the time Alex and Miles reemerged, ruffled and snogged swollen. 

Though the music still serenades, the works of Lennon - from what Alex can see - ease the party off into a breezy post-midnight zone.

Directly after Alex has fixed Miles’ hair for the last of countless times, and he’s straightened out his own crumpled apparel, the pair part their ways, reentering the chatter and calico noise. 

Alex goes straight for the kitchenette, fishing a bottle of whiskey out from a secret cabinet before he pours himself a dose, throwing in a tumble of ice before he downs the brew. 

Once he’s certain he can walk after the happenings behind the thin bedroom walls, Alex threads his way back into the swing of small talk and is soon reunited with Matthew, and Nick who’s out cold on the sofa. 

The occupants of their themed soiree remain strong as ever, the kitchen a fucking mural of coloured, shaped bottles, the living space is loudest and Alex barely catches one word of what Matt calls over the speakers, but he’s having fun, so there’s that.

Alex came to realise - between the premature hours that crept in, and his pack of howling, pisshead friends - just how accomplishing it felt to be having a nice night. He wasn’t completely sold on what he felt in knowing such a thing had become so rare - melancholy was certainly a front runner, followed by the dark humor that so often adorned the pain. 

It didn’t matter. Well, it did. But right now - sandwiched between drunk-happy and happy-happy - his poisoned darts of philosophical blasphemy could take five. 

And they did, all of that deconstructive thinking was flushed down with the liquor, the unsolicited anxiety gently shushed by the kiss of Miles’ bourbon lips and all was right in the world. Or maybe just the UK. Or maybe just Alex’ smokey, noisy flat. 

But the shifts of his circumstances seemed as bipolar as they get, so it was no surprise when what went up of Alex’ experience had to come crashing down. 

It’s the prologue of his own name, “Alex.” All but growled, dragged across Matt’s voice - derailing Miles’ banter before the drummer ticks his chin at the front door. 

Alex physically feels the chemical shift in Miles’ body up against his, the variation hitting him like a tonne of bricks. 

Almost directly following Matthew’s cautioning came the intruder’s dreadful audio - Alex spun his head towards the cracking hollar at the door, a rouse cheered on by the bodies surrounding he and the two lads.

Alex’ body stiffened. 

Julian’s dark eyes found Alex, between Miles and Matt, his pulse rocketting through him as air stuck to his throat. 

“The fuck is  _ he _ doing here?” Jamie spits from behind them, the lad’s drunken defences falling into play as he joined the cluster - the steely regard towards this evening's newest member.

“Just what I was wonderin’.” Matthew mutters, his jaw clenched. “Summat tells me he weren’t invited.” His eyes continue to scold the American obtruder, the man’s directive eyes and curl of lips spurring on Alex’ anxieties. 

“I...uh,” the boy clears throat, turning to raise his shoulders meekly at Miles and his rigid friends, “I - I don’t - I don’t know why he’s here.” But with this thought, Alex wondered if perhaps not-so deep down he wasn’t so clueless, perhaps he  _ could _ draw up a few theories as to why his ex-boyfriend was crashing a party designed to pick Alex back up, and out of his lingering post-breakup discolouration. 

But gazing across the room, past the pain and discomfort that came with seeing him, Alex saw the man he’d spared from a bar fight drunker than he’d been - the man who Alex had once known so completely would be his forever. He was struck dumb. Paralysed by his own memories, the fragmenting images both with and without Julian. 

“Holy shit, he’s comin’ over,” Jamie cursed disbelievingly, eyes darting between the denim clad man and Alex, who schooled his face to one of stone, his eyes assigning themselves to Julian’s approach.

“Oh no he’s fucking not-” Miles snarls, pushing his martini into Matt’s chest before undoing himself from Alex. It’s the hand the boy chains over his shoulder that then pulls him to an instant halt. 

Spinning back to find Alex’ contradicting face, Miles frowns at himself when the boy shakes his head, nodding as he recoils, forcefully pushing back all hostile intentions.  

Alex swallows hard as Julian follows his trajectory towards the boy and the intoxicated guard dogs of his heart - his heart, thumping like an axe through his chest as he squeezes the glass in his hand mercilessly. 

Although he had all of the ingredients to survive this, Alex couldn’t shake the pinching of his nerves as his ex loomed so nonchalantly before him, sneering at the barbwire men around the boy - drunk yet still so dangerously lucid. 

As Miles was still in the orbit of tearing Julian a new one, the American eyed him amusedly, an image of two tsunamis colliding briefly trekked over Alex’ nervous mind. 

The boy cleared his throat, pinching the back of Miles’ jumpsuit to reel him in, and he does, wrapping an arm around Alex’ waist. His heart fills when Alex realises how right that feels.

“Took it upon ye to invite yerself then?” Alex asked, lifting his eyebrows expectantly, honing the entitlement he felt he shouldn’t have to fake. 

Julian scoffed under his beer-perfumed breath, “I used to fucking live here.” He spat, and then - as if remembering etiquette  - pulled together a posture. “I should be aloud to pay a visit if I like.” The figure smirked, his eyes rolling over the party for a beat, the voices merrily chatting and unbeknown to the hurricane in Alex’ gut. 

The boy senses the step fourth Jamie takes - as inebriated as it is. “W-well, yer welcome ‘as officially expired Casablancas.” Jamie hiccups, and Alex imagines the sting of acid crawling up the potted guitarist’s throat, the stinging uproar of downed spirits. 

“Why don’t you pipe down BeetleJuice?” Julian just as drunkenly snarks back, “I’m talking to Alex.  _ Oh _ yes, and Alex’s-” he chuckled arrogantly, shaking his head. “Alex’ boyfriend.” He finished off humorously, “the  _ charming _ man who fucks with Alex’ image for fun. Sure can pick em Al.”

Alex scrunches his nose, “okay, I think it’s time you left Julian.” His eyes flick off to the door as if reminding him where it stood, ticking his head softly at Jamie to let off. 

Miles was biting his tongue and Alex could practically feel the molars puncturing him too, he could tell the man would burst at the meer hint of a pin. 

“Hey, d-don’t you fucking-” is as far as Julian’s retort gets, his broad index finger pointing into Alex’ sternum, before Miles’ fist comes crashing in. 

Striking a blue colour into Julian’s jaw, the revved musician sends the other staggering backwards, Julian’s hand coming up to hold the assaulted bone, death-staring the offender. 

Miles urges Alex behind him and the boy feels Matt take his arm, pulling him back as if the cornering brawl had been a long time coming. Which Alex found himself failing to argue with. 

As soon as Julian had furiously recovered, he came marching back for a returned favour - swooping in with a gutless fist to Miles’ stomach, the vicious delivery causing the lad to nearly double over, clutching his abdomen in pain.

“ _ Miles _ ,” Alex yells, attempting to shrug Matthew off, “Julian- s-stop. Fucking-” he tries but Matt’s irritatingly protective hold has Alex sewn into his helpless place, his breathing an unkind rythmn. 

By now the party is not only full of wide eyes, but a quickly disappearing audience. Costumed bodies pouring out the front door in a way that Alex is beginning to envy. 

His fearful eyes spun back to the two anarchists exchanging blows, his sight then swiftly scanning the room to find a myriad of phone cameras out, an arena of flashes aimed at the issued fists and roared insults Miles and Julian swap.

“Hey, no, no, off, turn em off!” Alex orders almost pleadingly, upholding his free hand in a kind of shield over the scene before his attention snapped towards Miles, who’s been pushed into the sofa a slumbering Nick occupies half of.

“Nick. Nick, wake the fuck up mate.” Matthew calls, unlatching from Alex, moving to shake the bassist awake and away from the line of fire. 

Free of Matthew’s restraints, Alex sucked in a breath, moving to catch the pause amongst Julian - towering over the couch - and Miles, who glared up at him, both inaudibly demanding things Alex can’t make out. 

The boy shakes his own viewing away, darting forwards to wedge himself between the two, his eyes first stitching to the man sunken to the couch - lip bloodied as his snarl at Julian becomes a dropped, yielding expression to Alex’ protest.

And then it’s quiet. Alex takes in the rise and fall of Miles’ pulsing chest, his face turning to find an identical theme in Julian, who Alex realises for the first time this evening, appears profoundly thin, exhausted. 

It hits him then that perhaps the break from Jules had broken both halves. 

“Stop.” He all but whispers to Julian, “just...please.” His lip trembles and it’s bizarre that his eyes only now cloud over. 

The man sniffs, clearly on the verge of his own tears, which Alex knows he hates to let spill. Julian’s eyes briefly flick over Alex’ shoulder with a glare to Miles, sleeving off his bloody nose before his glassy, red eyes seemed to blink goodbye to Alex, his tall form rotating from the mess of everything.

Alex notes the stutter through his chest when the room is free of him. And he blinks away his guilt. It doesn’t belong inside him anymore. 

3

The remaining guests murmured their meek goodbyes, vacating Alex’ suddenly poisoned flat until it was just he and Miles.

Matt, with drowsy Nick under his wing, had protested endlessly to Alex’ dismissals - arguing that he should hang back with him now - to which the boy had pressed that the drummer needed to sort Nick out. 

Along with Matt’s insistent pushing to remain behind, Jamie was fretfully pacing the living room with plans of filing charges. 

Too many versions of his grief were swiftly rushing to the surface, and Alex’ body hurt, so much so that the mere idea of opening up about anything, even as bland as what he’d had for breakfast, seemed far too straining. Too pointless. 

After honing the mother of phony grins, and neck-breakingly assuring nods, Alex managed to coax his friends out the door, sent home with promises of calls in the morning. 

Closing the frame behind the lads, Alex caught himself spacing out as he blanked at the sight of the hardwood. Giving himself a short little shake, the boy moved across the raided room, passing Miles who stood motionless, to retrieve the garbage bags that lived under the sink. 

More or less ripping one of the black, plastic rolls out, Alex shook the bag open and began wordlessly dropping the plastic cups, cigarette butts, and other miscellaneous shit from the counter into the black hole, his eyes refusing to find Miles from where he stood - blurred in Alex’ peripheral. 

The expanding scrapbook of tonight’s sour ending turned Alex to solid dread, and all he could to was shutdown. 

Exhaling as he ran a hand up through his sweating hair, the boy tied the full bag, fishing out another.

“Al?” Miles prodded, coming to stand on the other side of the bench, his fingers gently curling around the edge as he watched Alex’ anxious tidying. 

The boy, while completely aware of Miles’ proximity, made no effort to respond; hooking his arm around the trash littered countertop, ushering the evening’s evidence into the plastic purse. 

Although Alex remained in his silence, the boy was swarming with unuttered feuds, retorts patiently simmering at the surface without plans to emerge. 

“Alex…” Miles tried once more when the boy breezed like a fatigued ghost past him, floating morbidly into the living room’s littered mayhem. “Al…” his voice wavered, “I know-”

“No.” Alex snapped, straightening, “you  _ don’t  _ know.” He tamped down with painful direction, finally forwarding Miles the cruel glare he’d tried in vain to chain down. 

When the boy opened his mouth with more fire, his brows pulled into a sharp arch, he was met with an empty cavity, and slim motivation to prove any points he may have briefly contained. 

He leaned back over the coffee table, resuming his currently unnecessary task, trying to employ those breathing techniques Jarvis had offered. 

“Baby...if,” the man inhaled, carefully stepping back into the trash-cluttered living room. “If this is because I hit him, it...he...I just - Alex, will you just _ look _ at me?” 

The tidying lad did no such thing - hell bent on ignoring this confrontation, convinced avoiding expression would, in the long term protect them both.

“ _ Alexander _ .” Miles hissed, “I’m  _ sorry _ . Just, tell me what to do, I don’t wanna fight.” He pushed on, nearing Alex with a worried expression and crossed arms. 

Alex straightened up once more, leveling Miles with a firm look, “why  _ shouldn’t _ we fight?” He questioned harshly, chuckling coldly as he tensed his hands around the half empty bag he held. “It’s what we’ve always done best.” He snarked brutally, frowning punishingly down at the littered floor.

Miles’ mouth hung parted, lost for words as his hand gently reached for Alex, contacting his arm.

“ _ Don’t. _ ” He snapped, recoiling from the attempted embrace, “you - you -” he all but panicked, dropping the bin-bag, “you don’t _ like _ me. You never liked me.” He croaked, stepping further away, till the backs of his legs hit the sofa. 

Miles stared at him in complete shock, his hands curled into his chest in nervousness. Alex was breathing short, sharp breaths when he argued destructively; “I mean...that’s why the lie worked so well right?” 

Miles shook his head through the entirety of  Alex’ point, his heart hammering. “ _ Alex _ , that isn’t...” he defended, swallowing hard, “you’re wrong.”

“Oh?” He hit back, not missing a beat despite the alcohol levels, “cause I remember our history with a certain hostility to it.” Alex’ mind went over the origin, the start to their concourse and further, long before it. His case upholding in Alex’ own, internal courthouse. 

“It...it doesn’t matter, love.” Miles hindered softly, nearing the other man. “ It’s - it’s all different now. That’s what’s important, Alex.”

Alex scoffed, his head nodding. “Different. Right, so you just...decided I  _ wasn’t _ scum the night I grabbed you in that bar?”

“Alex!” Miles’ jaw dropped, the boy could see the concrete walls he was jackhammering into, and he couldn’t stop. “No, I wanna know what changed.” He countered ,” _ Oh _ yes - the power of an erection never ceases to amaze me.” He paraded, the intoxication leaking through, though Miles was just the right amount of drunk that it hit him soberly. “Alex, stop talking.” 

“Miles, start talking.”

That struck something, a groan of exhaustion ripping out of him when he shouted, “I wanted you the fucking second I saw you.” 

The silence that followed sent collective chills up the two men. Alex fell into a muteness that asked for more needling honesty.

“But I knew…” Miles said monotone, his brain giving him the shit he’d worked so hard to repress. “Knew for certain I couldn’t have you. Knew for certain I was like every other bloke in your crowd.”

Alex scoffed disbelievingly, crossing his arms. “No one else is Miles Kane.”

Miles shook his head pleadingly, “but that’s nowt when it’s me an’ you Al.”

“Oh fuck off.” The boy spat back, refusing to believe Miles thought this of his fame. 

“I didn’t want to be like everyone else - I...I  just needed you to see me.” His voice quivered towards the end, and the man took a seat over the half-cleared coffee table, resting his head in his hands.

“What are you saying?” Alex questioned openly, folding his arms as a bad feeling swallowed him whole.

He watched Miles swallow before their eyes locked. “I prefered you... hate me...than just be another guy in the fucking parade of guys after you.”

The penny dropped, an acid taste occupying Alex’ mouth as he gaped at Miles, “you mean…”

“I just needed you to see me.” He supplied shakily, rising in defense. “It was  _ killing _ me, Alex.”

“Oh my god.” Alex breathed, waving Miles away from him, “oh, my god, s-so all of that - that rubbish online?”

“Bullshit.” The lad confirmed, his face stressing the turmoil he held for the matter, his breath frantic.

The trashed living room was filled with seconds of wounding silence, a muted conversation the two share between Alex’ inpained realisation, and Miles’ regretful eyes.

The man watched as Aex settled down over the sofa, his head hanging. “Alex...I was-”

“I’m done.” He butted in, piercing the carpet, mindlessly noting the ash from a spilled tray. 

Miles’ head jerked back in impact, a drop of coldness hitting his gut. “W-what?”

Alex sighed, rubbing his eyes as he hunched his elbows over his thighs. “I quit.”

The boy stood, slipping past Miles’ paralysed figure, to drag himself into the kitchen. 

Miles inhaled as blinked rapidly, “you…” he uttered under his breath, his throat dry. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just, I’m done.”  Alex croaked tiredly, barely pacing the kitchenette, “I can’t do this - this fucking  _ illusion _ anymore.” He spelled out, eyeing Miles as he cornered the counter to stand before Alex. 

The man pinched his nose, eyes lifting to meet Alex’. 

“It isn’t an illusion if I fucking love you.” He reasoned, all of his cards hammered into the table.

But Alex shakes head, “don’t. Don’t say that.” He muttered, rounding Miles to ditch his attempts with cleaning - his attempts with all messes he’d let touch him. 

“Alex-” Miles pressed, taking Alex’ forearm. The boy allows himself to be held, his eyes red and drunk, blinking with bruising finality up at the man he was letting go.

“I’m going to bed.” He muttered monotone, shaking himself from Miles’ hold. “If you ever gave a shit about me, be gone when I wake up.” It hit Alex how vicious he was. It did. The shots he fired piercing them both. But it was done.

Alex exited the area, refusing to look back before flicking the lights off. 

Miles was gone when he got up hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> umm, yeah.
> 
> also, I do realise this chapter was like, SO long ! heh
> 
> also, also, chapter title is Led Zeppelin once again, that kinda month...s


	19. Ride On.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey I'm getter better at updating, yayyy. Major angst warning, kudos if you get the metal references and somehow survive Alex' inner-monologue ;)   
> Title is ACDC.

1

It was as if being hit by a bus - waking up without Miles. 

The emotional equivalent of an anvil weighed over Alex’ chest as he lay in bed, accompanied by a clenching whirlpool of anxiety tight within his abdomen.

Rolling onto his back, the man with the broken shards of his heart, his pride, laying under his skin, stared expressionlessly up to the ceiling. Blinking slowly, no yawns coming over him, no solace in the sound of rain rapping gently against the roof. Nothing driving Alex into anatomical motion other than the dull desire to be out of bed - he’d been under the covers and awake for too long. 

The boy didn’t recall lugging his body out of bed, nor tugging his warm, knitted goods on as he exited his bedroom. But as Alex blinks at the coffee machine, watching it rev his mud into the mug, he gathers he’s done those things. The act of recollection had soon become something Alex worked hard to suppress, as if an extra and unwanted sense. 

Tip toeing in his socks with light steps, Alex edged into his polluted living room, steaming caffeine in hand as his eyes flicked over the abandoned trash bag from the night before. 

Falling into the mouth of a sofa, the man sank between cushions, feeling the weight of his facial muscles, his temples, his cheeks, the blue under his eyes - blooming a dark tone in answer to the lack of sleep. 

Alex’ head fell back and his eyes landed on the plaster roofing, his coffee growing colder in his hold as the sound of light rain became known.

He’d actually dreamt of Miles. The Scouser had come to bed, climbing in behind Alex to spoon him. And just when Alex had opened his mouth - something akin to an apology on his tongue - Miles had uttered his own atonement, hooking his arms under Alex’ to pull him close, palms over his chest. 

Inhaling sharply, Alex pulled himself from the thought, inclining to balance his elbows over his thighs, staring down at the littered carpet. He felt as if his lungs had been taken, though his body seemed far too exhausted to bother with hyperventilating. 

Alex felt he could chalk it up to regret if he liked; most would stitch themselves and repress the thought of Miles until it didn’t sting anymore. But all Alex found in himself were the hollow piercings of shame. 

He’d gone back to bed after emerging to find a house void of Miles, returning to an empty mattress, sinking into his bed and his misery with hostile, teary blame for the alcohol and his Julian-induced vulnerability. Far too hurt to own his echoing errors. 

Alex could go back to sleep, he mused as the boy lifted his head to the mess around him. But Alex knew he’d just end up exhausting himself, fueling the insomnia when his mind refused to shut off. So he forewent that route of self-care. That was what people did when things like this happened, right? They gathered themselves into the previous statue, the one before the impact of affection had bombed them to fatigued wrecks. 

Clearing his throat, Alex rose from the sofa, tossing out his icy, untouched beverage before emotionlessly resuming last night’s clean up. 

 

The proceeding weekdays of rain and heartache blended into themselves, collective hours spent on his own, or on the phone with Matthew to whom Alex offered nothing tangible - no real evidence as to how unpleasant waking up had become, or how hard it was to come by headliners addressing his and Miles’ scandalous split. 

The way those tabloids summed their ended union up; such shiny, blatant disregard for the relationship they were advertising. Alex snorted to that - realising how petty he’d been in denying he and Miles were ever anything but matched, suited, paired, fitted.  _ Together. _

He spent solid, unmoving days watching old, sappy films because it was all he could stomach, staring through the tv as he played over every second he’d let slip by.

“Sometimes I just feel like, I don’t know...like everything good that was going to happen... it’s already happened, a-and I,” Alex inhaled, shaking his head, “I - I don’t know. Sorry, I…” He exhaled shudderingly, “don’t know what I’m really, trying to say... ” He snorted lazily, rubbing his eyes as the man across from Alex studied him closely. 

“No, Alex.” Jarvis countered gently, “don’t dismiss the need to express what’s going on.” The lad sat up, which seemed to always indicate that Alex had said something wrong, had voiced some doubt that needed correcting. 

Before the therapist can offer more, Alex too inclines to stare thoughtfully down at his hands. “I, uh, I don’t know if you...know about my...position, or.” He was fishing for a sentence that came without arrogance, “m-me band…?” he tried, searching to recall the last time he’d termed them as such. 

“Arctic Monkeys, yes, I’m aware.” He smiled softly, his older face lining with the grin. “I have a niece, she’s…” he chuckled lightly, “she’s mentioned your group once or twice.”  

Alex’s eyes flicked up to the older lad, this was the first instance in five days that had prompted any real emotional response from the man. The thought of Jarvis knowing the pressure he was now under, it tempted Alex to spill the beans. But it just seemed too messy.

Though soon, the man gazing at Alex through his glasses had opened the box for him.

“If...if you don’t mind my saying, Alex,” he inched, setting his folder - green and unholy - aside. “I’ve seen... I’ve read-” he continued, his tone calm though not without the frequency of suspected discomfort in the boy, “about your recent breakup, that is.” 

Alex knew it was coming, but the expectancy did nothing to soften the blow, and his eyesight lowered as Alex’ heart sank. Tugging tight the laces of his soft, hurt expression, Alex sniffed hard, clearing his throat as he sat up straighter. “Yeah. Guess you’re wondering why I never brought him up.”

What a thing, he thought when a slip up in his efforts to repress leaked a stream of memories. The entire phenomenon that Alex and Miles had turned themselves into. Flashes of his earliest interactions with the man, his distaste for Miles’ barbs, followed by a denial so useless that Alex was soon abandoning it for an unspoken adoration. 

The simple fact that no matter how harshly his mind insisted he snarl and deflect, Alex’ heart had thrown him into Miles’ arms - knowing that this was home-

Fuck. 

“Not as such…” Jarvis contradicted easingly, one trouser clad leg crossed over the other, prompting Alex to blink down at his tense, bouncing thigh. Stilling the muscles, the lad glanced up at his therapist for further words to sponge his thoughts. 

“I believe, to be in a romantic relationship…” he began carefully, and the phrasing made Alex’ stomach wrinkle. “You can’t sum your affections up right away. And I wouldn’t expect as much- Alex, you shouldn’t either. It takes time to find out who you are and who you need.” 

“I - I’m sorry,” Alex croaks, furiously wiping his eyes, “I thought I could do this,” he mutters regretfully, standing from the uncomfortably taut sofa. “I, uh, I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Mr Turner-” the therapist interjected in a levelled tone, eyes following the boy, but Alex had already slipped from the office.

Later on, as he dumps the grocery bags over his cleared counter, Alex felt a twinge of humiliation climb his spine in memory of his earlier session. Sighing, he moved to fill and click the kettle alive, finding the courage he needed in returning his Mother’s texts that yes, Alex and Miles were no more. 

2

‘ _ Miles Kane confirms split from Arctic Monkeys’ frontman, Alex Turner _ …’

Flaring his nostrils as he blinked back cloudy eyes, Alex more or less slammed his phone, and the sight of his and Miles’ name on those slippery magazines, over the kitchen counter. Screwing his fists into knuckled knots, the boy clenched his figure in pain, shaking his head before exhaling through his body. 

Alex knew the rumors would need verification before long, but so fucking soon? It set his heart to stone, reminded Alex how unlikely reconciliation had become, made him take that final step, reaching for the liquor cabinet. 

It was that evening that Alex’ reign of booze kicked in. 

Sure he’d had a few here and there since the split, the harsh sting of bourbon downed oddly, most doses within a cup of whiskey-tea; as Alex deemed it the only fashion in which he wouldn’t go overboard. 

He didn’t want this breakup to have any semblance to the last.

However, these petty preservations are abolished somewhere between Alex’ initial media nose-dive, and the very thing that triggered his bender, his spree of burningly honest ethanol - Miles’s validation of their ending. 

It was what truly cliched Alex’ distaste for sobriety.

Recalling pages upon pages, brackets between one and five am spent scrolling - morphing into an internet user Alex was repulsed to find himself becoming. 

Deciding then that if he was going to drink, he was going to  _ drink. _

There was something so unsavoury about the picture Alex caught himself creating - a broken record was what he felt like. On his sofa, nestled between his pillows and tissues. A perimeter of cigarette butts, takeaway containers and sheets upon sheets of scribbled tablature compositions. Some screwed into the stereotypical ball of scrap paper, others lined up in chronological order over the coffee table, crisp layouts keeping Alex’ head above water.

Though eventually the musician's hurricane of alcohol roars over his productivity, soiling the creative spark that had hit hard after Miles departed, drowning the melodies in a metallic rush of blood. 

Soon it isn’t funny. Soon the novelty of post-breakup drinking wears off, and there’s nothing but transparency between Alex and the bottles he was becoming as empty as. 

“Will ye please just - Alex! Can ye just, can you turn it down?  _ Al. _ ” Matthew’s voice barely sounded out over the blare, the drummer called up to the boy who stood high on the couch, roaring out, reciting heavy metal, his voice rough and course.

Reaching up to take the bottle from Alex, his friend failed to snag the item as Alex swung it up, rapidly emptying it in a savage swig. 

Alex hadn’t even heard the drummer enter his home; the stereo system rigged through his home, pounded through the walls, wails of screechy verse and all-embracing guitar riffs engulfing his flat. 

Up until Matthew’s unexpected drop in, the only body surrounding Alex had been the one of isolation, hugging the heartbreaker close. In all honesty, all Alex wanted to do was lock everyone out and feel something close to nothing.

Wearing the same clothes he’d been abusing all week - absorbed by the spilling of food or blow of tears - Alex’ feet sunk into the couch cushions he statues over, one hand wrapped around a bottle of Kentuky’s finest, the other lending a cigarette between his chapped lips. 

“ _ Electric _ -Funeral- _ Electric _ -Funeral- _ Electric _ -Funeral!” Alex bellowed, outshining Ozzie’s sonnet easily as he squeezed his eyes shut, pulling the cig out for a pull of Maker’s Mark. 

Holding the bottle up to his eyes - blurred in his sight of inebriated filter - Alex was met with an empty bottle. Groaning, he dropped the receptacle into his bandmate’s hand from above, whining that, “tha’ w-were me _ last _ one.” Screwing his face in distorted frustration, opening his eyes when registering that Matthew was no longer spotting Alex and his drunken sways.

The boy looked around and spotted the drummer tapping Alex’ phone awake from across the room, hitting pause in hopes of putting a stop to the howling. 

“Matt, s-stop it!” He called over the noise, frowning over at his friend. 

“I  _ am _ stoppin’ it, Al!” He hollered back pointedly, intentionally misunderstanding Alex’ meaning. 

“W-wait, no, no, leave the musi-” he cut in, the piercing silence in his flat interrupted Alex, the sound of growling thunder crawled in, replacing Osbourne.

He heard Matthew let out a sigh of relief, and noted his friend as the lad rubbed his forehead, staring down at the floor in heavy thought. 

Alex groaned once more, as if a bratty child robbed of his destructive activities. 

He watched Matt watching him, the purse of his lips and telling avoidance of eye contact. 

“I’m sorry.” His friend eventually offered, moving around the table between them to sink into the free end of Alex’ sofa. 

Alex glared down at the man, “I were  _ listenin’  _ te tha’.” He slurred, tossing his cig across the table with hopes for the ashtray - Matthew snubbed it out when he missed, settling back into the couch with a reclined posture, blinking hesitantly up at his friend. “Sit?” He asked, offering Alex a testing smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

The boy inhaled, pursing his liquor-stained lips before melting down beside the lad. 

“I do not wanna talk about it.”

“About what?”

“You know bloody wot.” 

Matthew slowly sucked a breath down, nodding softly as he surveyed Alex’ messy home, finding a scene so painfully similar to the last breakup that it slapped him. 

He turned to his friend who’s knees were to his chest, his face tired and discoloured where it mattered, his hair unkempt and greasy. 

Alex blinked down at his hands, the callouses being the only part of his body he could stand at the moment, the rush of alcohol demanding Alex recall the amount he’d consumed. 

He loved Matthew for his stubborn nature, and although Alex wanted his friend to suffocate him with advice and gentle lectures on moving on, and change - all the boy craved was the sound of his friend closing the door behind him; he was  _ not  _ anchoring Matthew to his bottomless ocean of self-pity. 

Just when Alex thinks the silence between them has reached its end, and he’s sure Matthew’s opened his mouth - his friend stood from the couch, moving away before Alex asked pathetically, “wait, don’t - please don’t go.” 

Matthew’s looked over his shoulders with lifted brows, and a knowing smile tugged at his lips. “M’not going anywhere,” he relayed easingly, resuming his journey in the trajectory of - as Alex soon gathered - the paused phone. 

Alex studies Matthew as the lad squinted slightly at the screen, scrolling until his face relaxes. 

A soft rhythm of isolated drum and oddly strummed guitar emerge. The lulling, bluesy ballad of presumed heartbreak - because what else? - sends Alex lax, his shoulders slumping and his intoxicated scowl relaxes. He sighs - his throat catching the breath, turning it to a broken sound - as Alex’s head falls back, hitting the top on the sofa. 

“Not quite as... _ extravagant  _ as your earlier picks, but...” 

Alex made a vague sound of relenting agreement, his eyes shut as the lyrics stuck their head out. 

_ Got another empty bottle _

_ And another empty bed _

_ Ain't too young to admit it _

_ And I'm not too old to lie… _

Feeling his friend come to sit by him once more, Alex lifted his head lazily, blinking heavy eyes as he offered a twist of lip that one might call a smile. 

The lingering grumbles of thunder began growing, sounding slightly over the music as climbing impacts of rain hit the roof.

Turning himself, Alex sat so that his back leaned against the arm rest, and his feet rested over Matt’s lap. His eyes were wet, he could feel them threatening to bead down his whiskey-flushed cheeks, but the boy felt no desire to wipe at them. 

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” Alex muttered -  _ again _ \- his guilt sang through the boy’s mind. 

Matthew rested his head against the furniture’s plush upholstering, gazing down the length of the couch to Alex. “I  _ wanted _ to deal with his.” His bandmate told the boy, his expression stern and immeasurable certainty in his tone. 

Alex huffed a chuckle out, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I am so not worth the trouble.” He muttered over the music, finding a hurt, apathetic look framing Matthews face when he surfaced. 

“You’re never trouble to want to be around, ever.” His friend spelled out carefully - pointedly - though was soon blinking away in defeat when Alex snickered, “no, that’s not…” he sighed, too drunk, too distanced to bother with protest. “I’m always a headache, I know I am.” He said, there wasn’t even any cruelty to this tone, just the delivery of a fact Alex needed Matt to know he knew. 

“Alex, stop.” His friend pressed in a sharp tone, tamping it own with a stern look.

_ One ‘a these days I’m gonna, change my evil ways… _

More silence between the two, Alex picking at his nail cuticles as Matt tried not to count the bottles at his feet.

“Do you think…” Matt heard his friend murmur gingerly, Alex’ eyes averted when the drummer’s sight flicked up to him. The boy waved the thought away when he saw he’d caught Matt’s attention, “never mind, it’s nowt.” 

“It’s not nowt. Tell me, Al.” He encouraged easingly, draping his arm along the sofa’s back. 

Alex sighed shudderingly, his tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth, “I were just gonna say…do you think,” he mounted slowly, scrubbing the light stubble up his neck, “d’you think he was...the one?” He shivered internally, his organs rolling their eyes - he was wasted, and selfish enough to want to vent. 

Matthew’s face fell into a considering stance, and Alex refused to look at his friend; mortified by what he’d pondered, while feeling no inclination to take it back. 

“I…” Matthew breathed, picking at a fraying thread on Alex’ sweatpants, “I don’t know if he...were the one. I really don’t.” Alex noted his friend’s fallen expression, his level breaths and overall air of sorrow, dismally matching Alex’. 

“Maybeh…” the drummer then verged, brows pulling in calculation. “Maybeh, he weren’t the one, just - one.” There was a soft twitch to his shoulders that could’ve been a shrug, his eyes flicking up to Alex.

The boy furrowed his expression in reflection, releasing a quiet breath as a debating sprain hit his heart.  “Not  _ the one _ . Just...one.” He uttered, trying the statement out as he bent one leg. 

Matthew had an undeniable point - a point the drummer didn’t appear too proud to have made - however, something about it, perhaps the theory’s clipped finality, just didn’t sit well with Alex. 

“But what, but what if…” he edged, regrettably voicing a thought best left unspoken. 

“What if he’s the only one I want? ...Will ever want…” His tone was the pinnacle of wounded, all faint certainty draining, disgorging faster than the liquor had. 

Matthew exhaled through his lips, inclining slightly to retrieve Alex’ carton and lighter from the table ahead of the longuing two.

Lighting the cigarette, Matthew exhaled through the silver plume, resuming his slump as he turned back to his friend’s query.

“Then you get him back.” Matthew supplied on exhale, “what’s stopping you? When you clearly love the bastard.” Matt chuckled, passing Alex the smoke. 

Alex gave in with a smirk as he accepted the cig, rolling his eyes as he took a heady pull. “I don’t think...” he inhaled, releasing the grey breath, “I don’t think it matters much.” He summed up, passing the cigarette back to Matthew’s hesitant fingers, “that I love him, I mean.” 

The lad on the opposite end of the sofa furrowed his brows, “why do you say that?” He cradled the cylinder of tobacco in his broad digits, “between the two of us, I always thought of  _ you _ as the romantic.” 

Alex snorted at that, nodding grantingly before noticing the music had finished. 

Suddenly registering the dampness to his cheeks, Alex physically recoiled, palming the tears away annoyedly. “Case in point.” Alex croaked in a kind of laugh, stretching over for the tissue box on the coffee table.  

Blowing his ruddy nose, chuckling as he let the cotton ball tumble to the floor, Alex sighed, pulling his lips into a tight line. “I…” he began in formulation, digesting Matthew’s inquiry, “I like -  _ no _ ,” he snickered, interrupting himself, “ I  _ love _ a good bottle of whiskey.”

“How could ye not.” Matt agreed, listening for Alex’ verdict as his eyes flicked down to the oceanic tide of bottles. 

“Right.” Alex affirmed, sniffing, “but, I mean, that shite ain’t good for ye.”

“Dunno, Al, I know a few guys that’d disagree with tha’.” His friend joked, desperate to keep Alex from making that metaphorical plummet.   
The boy surrendered a half hearted grin, concluding with the lift of his shoulders - “it’s a thrill, a rush...but that don’t mean it’s any good for ye.”

The room was caught in a brief suspension, a stillness that reminded Alex how things would be once he was alone again. 

“Is Miles the whiskey?” Matthew pried carefully, studying Alex’ face for a clue.

“Yeah, Miles is the whiskey.” Alex confirmed blankly, running his fingers along the moisture at his eyes.

Matthew nodded slowly, letting out a low breath. Alex watched his friend shift from the corner of his eye, feeling nothing but disdain for his failed plan - the one wherein Matthew is spared the weight of Alex’ heart break.

“Ye sure?” Matt asks, his words rippling through the silence, “ye know...this is how it goes?” His tone harboured nothing but caution for Alex’ state, though his words came  with the slightest air of hope.

Alex bit his lip, nodding down at the tissue in his hand, “this is how it goes.”

3

Matthew - despite Alex’ profuse protests - had stuck around all evening, cooking the boy a steaming bowl of bean and broccoli pasta before settling them in front of Alex’ laptop. 

Alex had been too worn to keep his eyes open for long, blinking sluggishly through his meal. The amount of disburdened tears had sorely drained Alex of his fight - passing out against Matthew’s shoulder in due time. 

He awoke the following day curled into the sofa, a wooly blanket over his body as Alex stretched himself awake, the faint matter of persisting rain surrounding him.

Blinking around his home, the boy scoffed to the sight of a spotless living room, frowning as he reached for the note perched over his coffee table, headed with Alex’ name in Matt’s handwriting. 

Flipping the paper open, Alex read Matthew’s notice: 

_ Had to do it. Thank me later. Ibuprofen on bench for hangover. Call me when you’re up. _

Shaking his head fondly, Alex forwent the last part, though took Matthew up on his offer of medicine, standing with a heavy skull to find his aid.

Downing the two chalky pills, Alex let the medication roll down his throat, padding over to the kettle. As Alex filled the jug and set the boil into play, he pulled a mug out of an overhead cabinet, dropping a chai tea bag inside before searching for the sugar jar. 

As the boy scooped his second teaspoon into the ceramic cup, the kettle exhaling it’s trainsteam of smoke, his head perked up to the sound of a knock at the door. 

Knowing it to be Matthew, Alex snorted under his breath, moving around the counter and through his freshly cleared living area. 

Unlatching the locks than ran up his front door, Alex pulled the frame open, a sultry ‘thank you’ on the tip of his tongue. 

He squinted through the cloudy brightness, croaking in his morning growl, “I was gonna call-”

Miles tensed, his hanging head lifting as he blinked wordlessly up at Alex. 

The boy’s eyes focused as his mouth fell agape, “oh.” 

 


	20. Beginning Of The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait hehe, ended up splitting this chapter, it was getting crazy long...getting to that end eventually :))

1

“Is it - is it okay that I’m here?” Miles ventured tepidly, his posture low as he peered up at Alex - regarding the boy as if he were a scold as harsh as the sun.

Finding a painful dose of recovery stamped over Miles, it appeared to Alex as though he’d weathered the separation well - if his crisp attire was anything to go by. It hit Alex with a measure of discredit for himself.

The lad wore a hugging, chocolate toned coat - plush and of something as faux as Alex’ visage. Charcoal-denim clad legs, a navy skivvy, and an overall demeanor that shone emotional survival; a composed exterior that had Alex shifting uncomfortably in this week’s sweats.  

The only real suggestion of struggle was the blatant lack of soft umber; where once hung loose, brunet locks was shaved bare, a light scrub over his scalp to advice when it’d been cut. 

Alex’ heart cramped at the sight of the surface - to the suspicion that his actions alone had caused the clipper. 

The mere idea of his drunken lashes cutting that hair away, shoving Miles into a place of distress and alarm over identity. The simple deduction of causing Kane’s wits any harm kicked Alex’ soul bruisy. 

“Of course it is.” He assured in a light breath to the original opener, any grudges Alex might’ve held for Miles - or the additional, unexplained versions of him - had been spent, faded by the passed, claustrophobic weeks. By the cold led in his chest begging for Miles’ pulse.

“I’ve just...boiled the kettle?” Alex all but gambled, his logic insisting Miles could only be here for the truckload of effects he’d left behind that night. The unwashed, Miles-scented clothes, the mingled records and uncased guitars. The uncrumpled notes of lyrics Alex dared to dream were written about him.

The faint motion of Miles nodding his head pulls Alex from the nostalgic thought, stepping aside the threshold as his heart hammers, eyes catching another glimpse of that rough surface ruling the lad’s head - wondering so helplessly how the prickled expanse would feel under his hands, pushing Miles’ head down- 

“Tidy.” The man remarks in an even tone as he wanders towards the kitchenette, the unintended implication making them both wince as snapshots of haunted estrangement flood Alex.

“Matthew.” He supplied in answer, “robbed me of my artist’s mess in me sleep.” He chuckled nervously, motioning to the free counter stool as he moved to fetch another mug. 

Fixing Miles’ beverage, Alex feels those ale-hazel eyes on him and it takes everything in the boy not to look up from where he pours the hot water. 

The sound of gentle rain offers a backing audio to their conjoined silence, it isn’t a stiff muteness per say, perhaps simply a needed space for both parties to prepare their cases for the other. 

Refusing to let his own torment with past mistakes rule him, Alex cleared his throat, lifting his eyes slowly. “You’re uh, guitars?...I haven’t touched ‘em, and all your clothes are still-”

“Alex, I - I didn’t come here for that.” Miles cut in with an edge to his tone, though Alex sensed no hostility to it, only an anguish that punched Alex’ heart. 

As he pours the milk to create the light beige Miles takes, the boy allows himself a preparing breath, sliding the steaming Earl Grey over. Knowing - or desperately hoping he knew - why Miles was here, the boy chose against beating around the thorned bush. 

Pulling up a stool tucked under his side of the bench, Alex began with a hesitant, “I...I wasn’t sure if…” 

As he settled his buzzingly nervous self opposite Miles, clutching his burning mug, he sighed, “I wanted to talk…” while he appreciated that Miles was giving him the floor, a thought of a similar fashion had Alex on the edge of his seat; internally hoping to be interrupted and freed of Miles’ directed regard. 

“I wanted...to talk.” He reiterated with a stammer, swallowing a ball of anxiousness. “I guess I just...didn’t realise how bad until I saw ye.” He huffed a small, uncertain sound before shutting himself up with a sip. 

“No, I...I get it.” Miles mumbled, staring down into his milky drink. “I just…” he inhaled, his fingers tensing slightly where they cradled the mug’s handle. “I needed you to know how, completely…” he shuddered a heavy breath out, his brows pinching, “how  _ sorry _ I am, Alex.” 

The boy understood Miles’ avoidance of his gaze - Alex himself felt how razor sharp his eyes were in this moment - studying Miles as the other lad blinked miserably down at his drink, his chin wobbling. 

It was the stinging sight of Miles’ stuttering facade, or whatever the fuck he’d hoisted up, that sent a solid wave of emotion over the boy.  _ “Hey, hey,”  _ he asserted as he inclined over the bench, reaching his hand out for the man in a kind of whiteflag gesture. 

His scars easily heal the instant Miles curled his fingers into Alex’ - this is what home felt like, the boy educated himself with. 

“I’m sorry too...” he sighs, his head hanging as his unoccupied hand joins the other, wrapping the slender one atop Alex’. 

Miles’ brows drew together as his eyes flicked up to Alex’ softened ones, “I was so out of line, Al. And you - you have to know that everything... _ everything  _ was real...I just...” his argument trailed away as did his conviction, given up with a harsh tinge of shame. A shame Alex found he had already mirrored. 

He nodded, recalling the look in Miles’ eyes when Julian had shot his venom. 

The boy licked his lips nervously, “I was...I felt played.” Alex dare reveal, removing a hand to push through his unwashed hair. He sighed, deciding what was worth being said, and what could remain unspoken. 

“But it...it was more than what you did.” His chest felt airless as the atmosphere around him seemed to wait for clarity, “the pressure was killing me.” He supplied in mumble form, admitting to himself then that he’d go with blatant honesty. Or as close to it as he could get. 

Miles leaned in, his elbows bracketd, “I  _ never _ should ‘ave asked you to do this- I mean...I just, I mean I should’ve just fucking asked you to dinner like a normal person.” He shook his head stiffly with a sharp inhale, guiltily glaring off at nothing.

Alex felt the muscles in his own face soften, “no, I don’t mean,” he breathed, remembering where they were status-wise, trying to recall just one of the excuses he’d created between that night and now. 

“Well, yes that...would've been lovely…” he smiled hesitantly, “but it just…” he vaguely gestured with his unheld hand, trying to motion the right words into his mouth. “It got so good. Like...it got too good too quick, and…” he pushed a breath out, chewing his dry bottom lip as he stared at the hand encased by Miles’. 

“Maybe I just wanted to end us before I could fuck it up.” 

Alex retracted his trembling hand - away from Miles’ enerved, stiff one - to claw his fingers through his hair in a nervous tick, the physical sensation prompting Alex to smirk, tilting his head as he eyed Miles.

“Nice hair by the way.” He chided with a safe amount of tease, his sight subtly soaring to rake over the new look. 

He liked this shaved creature, knowing full well it could quite possibly be the heartbroken version he’d never met. 

Miles scoffed, smoothing a hand over the rough surface with a low chuckle, “thought I could do with a cut.” He humoured, undoubtedly sheltering Alex from a darker truth.

Alex nodded with a giggle, “I see.” He admired the light spiking of hair before his eyes lowered to Miles’. 

Opening his mouth smilingly, Alex wondered, “can I…” he snickered, “can I have a feel?” 

Miles’ eyes gave a soft light, snubbed by a forced chuckle as he grasped what Alex had meant, lowering his head in answer. 

Running his hand over the surface, Alex hummed as his fingertips curled into nothing, finding air where he once tugged a good handful of hair. Perhaps this was a latent power play of Miles’; no more hair pulling on Alex’ part. 

Whatever the case, he withdrew his hand with a soft laugh, “love it.” He grinned with a one-shouldered shrug, taking a swig of his rapidly cooling tea. 

“So.” Alex breathed as he lowered the porcelain, his elbows resting over the counter as he realised how acceptable it was that Miles was so close - mug-clutching fingers resting inches from his.

Maybe it would always be like this, regardless of their romantic status. Perhaps they were in a cruel way, destined to ride as soulmates, no matter the way their lives spun. 

“How’ve you been?” Alex genuinely wondered, tired eyes roaming over the light skin that had formed over both their teas. 

Miles let go a shuddering breath, his shoulders relaxing with it. “Not great.” He murmured, leaning away from their liaison, reclining in his stool once more, as if the proximity had begun to burn. 

“Yeah?” Alex uttered liably, understanding his role in that admitted misery. 

“Yeah.” Miles returned, his voice a comedic line when he divulged, “you...kinda broke my heart.” His huffing chuckle was met with Alex’ transparent eyes, and silent breaths that looked like they hurt. A deep breath, “you-”

“I know. I know I did the same.” 

A heavy pickup in rainfall leads them to avert their eyes from each other, the sound swallows up their inexperience in each other’s heartbreak...well,  _ Alex’ _ inexperience with it. Miles understood exactly what a heartbroken Alex looked like, hell, it was the very cause of their union. 

It had started with pain, perhaps it was simply meant to end that way. Titled with a breakup, punctuated with one. Heartache  _ did _ seem to be the personal acquaintance of most successful rockstars.

But looking at Miles, in this slumped kind of defeat that seemed to reflect Alex’ own morbid stance, all the boy wanted was for the man to take him away and never give Alex back to himself. 

“I love you.” Alex told him in a tone so delicately honest, he wasn’t all that certain it’d been him to say it. 

He crossed his arms over the counter, leveling Miles with an open expression, recording the smile that ghosts over the lad’s lips, faintly wondering if this was the last he’d ever see of it. 

“I might love you more than anyone.” Alex continued, admitting not only Miles, but to himself, something he’d once thought impossible to feel again.  

“But that…” Alex sighed, undoing his arms to rub heavy eyes, “it doesn’t necessarily mean we end up together.”

He lifted his head to note Miles’ deciphering, however placid expression, his fingers entwined into a knuckled knot in front of him. 

The boy reached out, palms up as he silently begged Miles to take his hands, not that any fiber of Alex felt deserving of his touch. 

When Miles’ fingers locked into his, Alex closed his eyes in a breath of padded relief, rubbing his thumbs over Miles’ skin. “Do you...know what I mean?” He asked, brow softly pinching in a concentrative, inquesting frown.       

Miles lifted his gaze to blink knowing eyes at Alex, “I...yeah, I do.” He affirmed in a grim delivery, “I don’t want to…” he disclosed pessimistically, “but I understand.” 

Alex’ heart wobbled, his eyes cornered in fogginess, tears not only for Miles, but the overt selflessness he’d abruptly been hit with. 

Although Alex did feel a protest in Miles’s body language and the pitch that carried his words, what he so clearly heard was a person capable of putting Alex’ preservations ahead of their own needs. 

Someone who, despite their clear yearning to be with Alex, knew how endings worked. 

Why couldn’t  _ Alex  _ have been so well versed when Julian had collected his parts and left? 

He squeezed Miles’ hands, really squeezed them, hoping the gesture would bring him solace in this terminating permit to touch the man. Instead a gust of homesickness hits him, knowing that he was in a sense - in a fairer, humane sense - doing to Miles what Julian had done to him. 

Alex had become the breaker. The half who derailed their ever-chugging train. So, was it always so monstrous of a feeling? Should he call Julian and ask how it’s done? Or how to numb it?            

Miles clears his throat, dragging Alex out of himself, “I’ll, uh, I’ll come back...for me things, when I ‘ave me car-” 

“No rush,” he assured gently, “I mean…” Alex chuckled softly, and it honest to gods  _ stung _ , “you’ll obviously need yer things, but...they’re no bother to have ‘ere.” He distantly recognised that all feeling had left his hands, sensed their tingling and happy states curled into Miles’ longer digits.             

The lad nodded to Alex’ easing guarantee, and the boy made a mental note not to hang on to anything once Miles did reclaim his things. That would just be unkind to both of them.

He looked up at the lad and registered their identical casts - red, tear-denied eyes and sad, relenting smiles that we’re purely for the other’s benefit. 

Their equally chilled cups of half-empty tea.    

“Well,” Miles initiated on exhale, “I think I - I think I’ll go.” He nodded to his words, eyes daring to spill a drop, he shouldered the tear away, smirking at Alex with another heavy breath.   

“You don’t... have to-”

“No, I...I think I should.” The man asserted, nodding again and just as he made to remove his hands, Alex tightened his hold. 

Miles gave him a questioning smirk, stilling himself, and Alex’ mind cracked as he leaned down to kiss Miles’ knuckles, hovering above the hands in his as aching eyes slipping shut. 

He could’ve punched Miles when he felt those slender fingers carding through his cropped hair, was he  _ trying _ to make this impossible? 

Sighing, Alex pecked the top of Miles’ right hand, slipping his hands out from under them both. 

“I’ll walk you to the door.” Alex told him, refusing to dismiss Miles the way he had that stupid night. The nod he’s met with is peninently returned as he slipped off his stool to round the counter, falling into Miles’ faux-fur hug effortlessly. 

A clouded sight ruins Alex’ view as he blinks up at Miles, the damp warmth encasing his eyes thumbed away by the lad, and he kisses Alex - too soft, too quick - over his lips. Goodbye kisses should be abolished when they’re that good.         

Miles tailed like a ghost behind Alex as they sauntered in the trajectory of the front door, each passing second took forever, until it was over, and he was turning the knob.

Opening the frame, they’re met by the unforgiving pelter of rain. The flow of water hammers down as harsh as their parting, though as the boy eyes the short distance from his porch to the front gate, he noted the unmoving wind, the trees that droop gloomily - just taking it.

“Um, come back inside,” Alex offered over the blare of rain, “just until it passes.” 

Miles afforded the boy a glum smile, shaking his head softly before he leant in to press a kiss to Alex’ cheek. “I got a taxi waitin’,” he supplied, peering out at the storm as he pulled away, “besides, little rain never killed anyone.”

The slighter huffed a small laugh, nodding robotically. “Okay.” He said, crossing his cold arms over his chest as rain sprinkled onto the porch. “We’ll talk, yeah?”

“Course we will, love.” He smirked, turning to the demanding weather before letting out a long sigh, “love you.” he reiterated, winking at Alex. 

“Love you too.” The boy said, the rain drowning him out, only the movement of his lips delivering the words. 

The hand that finds his waist, and the kiss that’s planted over Alex’ cheek sends a single flush of heat through him, easily overruling the chilly front surrounding the ending duo. It’s a sensation that orders a chord of guilt - _ regret, _ his mind supplies - splintering through his body. 

Sucking in a silent breath as his eyes slip shut, Alex pulls himself together, smiling tightly up at mMiles, whose face has merged to unreadable. Though it wasn’t really Alex’ job to guess those things anymore. 

And with that gesture of departure, Miles slips past Alex and out into the hurling rainfall, stepping down the few steps separating the porch from the path to the front gate. 

It’s supposed to be relief he feels, isn’t it? Julian certainly appeared to have had a tonne lifted from him when he’d dropped Alex. Amongst other things, he should feel some sense of liberation here, he knows it. It’s supposed to be here. So why can’t he find it? 

Watching as Miles nears the gate - so many overgrown plants climbing the bloody thing - Alex searches for that wave of assurance, that inner confirmation that this was right - that regarding the shrinking silhouette of Miles as the rain swallows him was correct.  

Fuck. 

Not trace of reassurance, not a single inkling of security. Only a thick spill of dread, a full-body exposure to one of the most ultimate fears he’d ever known. Losing Miles. If the mere thought of a life deprived of the Scouser stung him so viciously - how could Alex possibly face such a reality? Everyday.

_ Fuck. _

“W-wait! Fuck, Miles, wait!” Alex hears himself belt over the howl of pouring water, certain the lad won’t hear him - certain he doesn’t deserve to be heard. 

His circuits blow when he sees that Miles rotates in an instant, making long, certain strides back towards the house - as if he’d only been  _ waiting _ for a hint of leverage; a flicker of liberty to jump back into the boy’s world.

It’s too much, he’s too helpless where he stands and before Alex knows it, his feet, shoulders, and hair are all drenched. Within seconds of pushing out from under the porch’s shelter, and towards Miles to meet him halfway, Alex is as soaked as the other. 

“I’m sorry, I-” he sputters on beads of rain that hit his bluish lips, the apology pushed away by the chilly press of Miles’ kiss, pulling Alex out of himself just as he knew it would. 

The kiss is rapidly deepened, hard and apologetic, framed by clawing hands and gasps in the freezing atmosphere. Palms cradle Alex’ head, moving to clasp the boy’s polar cheeks, the question of pneumonia far over their heads.  

Miles breaks the icy embrace, breathing heavily into Alex’ space as the boy’s eyes refuse to open. Alex swallows around an overwhelming amount of relief, his brow pushing upwards into a concentrative pleasure at the feeling of Miles’ hands encasing his face. 

“I  _ know,  _ I  _ know _ .” Alex ground out before Miles could impart much, needing to rescue himself before the other man’s mouth had even opened.  

“I were just gonna say,” Miles panted around the water cascading down them both, “I don’t know what I would have done, if you ‘adn’t called me back.” 

Alex heard himself sob, stomping the sound down with a groan, “you would ‘ave gone on with your life.” He pressed, hands still curled into Miles’ shirt. 

“You  _ are _ my fucking life Alex, how do I go on without  _ that _ ?” 

He wants to argue, wants to fight that with everything in him. But something stops Alex, some distant part of his mind that allows that statement to sink in. Recognising how completely matched it is to the boy’s own tether to Miles. 

He scoffs, relenting as he always did, “yer so bloody dramatic.” He chides smilingly, shaking his soggy head, “feel like I’m in a fuckin’ romance novel.” 

Miles rolls his eyes, pulling Alex in for a light peck over his frosty lips, increasing the heat in Alex’ thermostat before letting off, holding Alex at arms length as he sized him with a hesitant look. 

“What does this mean?” He uttered around the saturation of his lips, the growl of thunder. “I mean, what - what are we?” 

Alex knows they aren’t together in the world of device, and on their own, inclusive planet they weren’t even together five minutes ago. Perhaps indecision was a trait he could stand to lose. Straining his eyes through the pelts of water, Alex breaths a hard gust of air out. 

“We’re us.” He delivers, the words are razor through the sheets of rain between them, shivers running through him as he blinks through the drops of clouds. 

“But what does that  _ mean _ , Alex?” Miles reiterates firmly, eyeing him with all the attention a guy could need, reminding Alex how completely incorrect he felt without Miles. 

“It  _ means, _ ” Alex tamped down, “I want you to come back inside with me and stay there.” His entire body felt divorced, resigned at the thought of a life void of Kane. 

“But for how long?” He pushed, the strain in Miles’ tone indicating a wall of his own protection. 

“ _ Miles, _ if I catch a cold, so help me-  _ forever. _ ” He all but shouted, fighting himself on the word, on the honesty that came delivered with it. 

“Forever.” Miles echoed, tasting the word and testing its development in his head. His lips were as blue as Alex’ were ice, and that coat was ruined. 

2

The power went out somewhere between twelve thirty, and Miles’ tongue mapping out Alex’ mouth.

Under the covers of obscurity and the roaring pelts of heavy rainfall, Miles and Alex were granted rein over each other’s cold, damp bodies. 

Miles had muffled into the boy’s lips at some point that a hot shower wasn’t an awful idea, the suggestion swallowed down as the boy took Miles’ nether lip between his teeth, giving a predatory glare that shut him up. 

Undressing each other’s shivering, soaked bodies at the door, the thermostat lent a hand in acclimatising the pair, the hum of the heating unheard over the storm.

As the boy locks the door behind them, Alex’s itch to fall into Miles and breath nothing but him overtakes any reserve he may have forgotten to leave out in the rain. 

Wearing nothing more than his clingy, waterlogged pants, Alex all but leapt onto Miles, locking his bare feet around the lad’s waist. 

Miles brushed the curled, dripping sop that was Alex’ hair from his pale face, chuckling when Alex dragged his fingers over his own shaved skull. 

Miles had been allowed only a moment in shedding his heavy coat and toeing off his loafers before Alex had jumped into his arms, locking his limbs around the man’s frame in a wanted,  _ welcomed  _ affection. 

Alex watched Miles and pursed his lips, breathing heavily when he whispered, “I  _ fucking  _ love you.” His tone contrasts starkly to his words; the innocent, almost hesitant frequency makes Miles melt into the doormat, while the statement itself has his body writhing. 

“I fuckin’ love ye too.” He smirked in frank return, smooshing his lips into Alex’ cold cheek, exctracting a snort and an even sloppier collision of lips and pesky tongues. 

Sighing as Miles’ hands felt up Alex’ bare back, gooseflesh shivering up his spine, the boy’s hips did what they could in this position to offer interest, short grinds into Miles’ abs where Alex’ legs were wrapped. 

The clinging boy made an informative grunt as his head ticked towards the hallway, humming into Miles’ mouth when the man read him without delay. 

Miles’ hands braced the curling body hugging him close, steering them towards purposefully the bedroom. 

3

Fortunately, the lights had cut out after the obstacle of unclothing each other, the darkness pooling around them and their nudity. 

The unshaded, low window across from Alex’ bed allowed a silver light to leak through, painting them ethereal. 

Alex is floating with him, nothing inside his body but Miles. 

It’s this impossible feeling of distance that has Alex reaching out for Miles like oxygen, and it's nothing but nourishing warmth that sinks him when his boyfriend holds Alex’ face still and kisses him into lucid thought. 

Thrusting fluently into Alex’ gasoline body with the lit match of Miles’ adoration, the two of them find their hips in synch, as are their thoughts, lunging with such certainty - a certainty Alex feared had been fiction all along. 

Miles’ body was Alex’ favourite sin. And he knew it, saw it in other’s darkened eyes, that Miles pondered him with a similar forbidden-fruit respect. A thirst for something that had been for so long out of bounds.

Miles’ hands find every part of Alex, and he’s swallowed once more by the feeling of having found home.

They don’t say anything afterwards, just watch each other, panting and breathless. 

The power had spat back on somewhere back there, both too distracted by the other to pay much attention. Though now the warmth of Alex’ salt-lamp gifts the room a shadowed pink, the central heating kicking in as Alex shuffles closer to Miles. 

“I’m sorry you don’t know more about me.” He breathed in a spent tone, head settling over Miles’ bicep as their legs tangled. 

The inadvertent sobriety to Alex’ apology hits Miles in his afterglow, a fear of the unknown curling into the center of his chest. He schools that disarmament, fingers gently playing with the longer curls of Alex’ hair. “Why would you say that?” He whispered inquisitively, kissing the exposed skin of Alex’ neck. 

“I - I guess I just,” he shook his head, huffing a chuckle under his breath, “I guess I just want you to know everything.” 

Miles smiled in a stroke of relief. “I’d like that too.” 

Alex released a silent breath, his lips curling into a lazy smile as his eyes slipped shut, faintly aware of Miles’ fingers than glide up and down his side. With their body’s facing each other, the weight of Alex’ eyelids drop. He yawned, grasping just how tired he was. 

“Two.” He hears Miles utter, leading Alex to open one eye, a questioning expression overruling the tired one for a beat. 

“Huh?” He barely replies, his spent body powering down as the lug of consciousness wore thin. 

“Sugars.” Miles says gently, “two sugars is how many you’ll ask for,” he elaborates, “but I know you really mean three.” He chuckles, “god forbid you should actually taste the tea.” 

Alex catches on and giggles, sweeping his eyes shut once more. “Fuck you.” He sighs, “ _ just  _ because I love you-”

“Four times.” Miles butts in, “you’ve seen Breaking Bad through and through four times, or so you like to brag when you’ve had a few.” His eyes shine over Alex’ docile face, his softened exterior on the cusp of sleep. 

“You...what are you doing?” Alex mumbled sleepily, too lost in his exhaustion to imagine how Miles might be looking at him.

“Well, I figured if we sort out what I  _ do  _ know...we can narrow down where I need improvement.” He smirked smartly, watching Alex’ closed eyelids shifting softly.

The boy reached out before the lad could react, pinching one of Miles nipples which, of course he hadn’t squealed to. The boy hadn’t even bothered to open his eyes for the act of utter brutality.

“You sneaky bugger!” Miles hissed around the stinging, covering the offended bud with his palm, and the other for good measure. Alex’ eyes remained closed when he snickered, “I’m aloud to do that.” He snarked cutely, rubbing his leg against Miles’ absently.

“Oh yeah?” Miles wondered in a rich tone, his eyes narrowed in playful offence, “and why’s that?”

Alex’ smile softened, “cause ye love meh.” He yawned, “yer nipples are mine now.” He full heartedly laughed, the cackle splitting his face beautifully and it was clear that Alex’ post-orgasm haze had yet to clear. 

“Oh fuck me, I fell in love with a psychopath.” Miles groaned laughingly, yawning as his head bowed down to Alex’ chest, his forehead kissing the boy’s sternum. Alex’ arms curled around his shaved head, gently holding Miles to him as the weight of sleep pulled him under. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter coming soon (probably)


	21. everything you've come to expect.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and smut shall be icing on my angst cake <3

1

Alex sleeps well into the day, the exhaustion he'd accumulated over the past week keenly catching up. 

Somewhere between his exit from cognizance, and the boy’s final awakening, Alex had rolled over to wrap his arms around Miles’ waist and sleepily smoosh his face into the man’s bare thigh, groggily blinking up to a seated Miles. The boy scanned his face, those brows, pulled in concentration as Miles scribbled in the page of a hardcover notebook. 

Alex stretched his body taut like a lounging cat, curling back up against Miles’ side, kissing the pillowing flesh under his cheek. “Don’t concentrate too ‘ard, love.” He smiled lazily, keeping his eyes closed as the lightened rain lulled him. 

He felt Miles huff a light chuckle under him, and all but purred when the lad ran his fingers along Alex’ side, down his ribs to tuck around the boy’s sloped waist. 

“Sorrey, babe.” Miles hummed, passing the notebook to the bedside table, “I were just,” he began, shuffling down the bed to meet Alex’ eyes. “I ‘ad to get it out.” He murmured, his breath hitting Alex’ lips, noses an inch from nuzzling. 

“Get wot out?” Alex yawned, appreciating the reduced weight of his under eyes; the hours he’d managed to capture relieving both physical and emotional injury - the trepidation swimming through him, the ache to his limbs. All selfmade barbs hacked away by the embrace of one correct decision. 

“Ye know,” Miles mumbled, ducking down to kiss Alex’ jaw. “Lyrics.” He elaborated softly, brushing the brunet bangs from Alex’ eyes, “or maybe not. Maybe just...thoughts.” 

“If ye write me a love ballad, I’m leaving you.” Alex informed him, snuggling closer.

A smile finds Miles’ face the instant an eye roll does, “duly noted.” He smirked, pecking Alex over his nose, setting another kiss over a dimple, receding down to his throat that bobbed with a hard swallow.

“Mmm, again?” Alex purred in askance, tipping over to his back as Miles peppered praising kisses down his chest, his eyes absently flicking down to spot the mountain of sheets at the foot of his bed. 

“If ye’d be so kind.” Miles breathed smilingly into Alex’ ribs, nose scenting down his sternum. The boy licks his lips as Miles’ tongue pads wettly up his body’s midpoint, those artful hands extending to lovingly palm Alex’ chest, fingers curling around his pecks wantonly, skillful digits centering to bother the man’s nipples. 

Alex bit his lip, pulling the pink between his teeth, eyes turning to slits as Miles smirked around the hardened posy between his lips, circling his tongue dirtily around the pleasure point. Miles marvelled at the high-pitched breaths his partner released as the slight body stuttered, voice hitching when one of Miles’ hands dare drag blunt nails over the skin of Alex’ inner thigh. 

The boy made a whine somewhere between grateful and wanting when Miles, against his hunger for lower regions, moved his lips feverishly above Alex’. He smiled softly at the way Alex parted his lips and swept those powerful eyes shut, the complete vulnerability nestled in the man’s features. 

The kiss his gentle in comparison to their earlier meeting, mostly a collection of wet-lipped pecks and sighs from both sets of lungs. 

“Mi…” Alex encouraged in a feather-light breath, the electrified nerves inbedded in his hands feeling up the lad’s sides, his knees bending to cradle Miles’ hips between them. “Now. Please…” he half joked, half growled; his entire frame itching for that final invasion. 

Alex gently turned his head, his partially dried hair poured over the pillow, skull slackening as Miles’ available hand took purchase at the back of his neck, allowing the boy’s head to decline as he kissed along his exposed throat.

Miles groans into Alex’ collarbone when the boy locks constricting ankles around the lad’s waist, arms folding around his other’s sunken neck to push their faces against shoulders. 

“Mmm, Miles.” Alex levelled a more lucid tone, blindly feeling around the sheets for the lube. When the body wrapped in him appeared thoroughly lost in the depths of his body, Alex reiterates. “ _ Miles _ , a moment please?” He teased, chuckling with the shake of his head once Miles resurfaced; a dumb, dazed look embroidered on his face. 

Spotting the all but spent bottle in Alex’ hands, Miles swiped the lube deftly, pressing back onto his heels as he emptied the remaining gel over his eager hands. 

Lathering his length and the still open, prepped hug of Alex’ opening, Miles leant back down, pressing one palm next to Alex’ head for the sake of balance. As he lined himself up, Alex blows a long, chesty breath out, his body going lax for Miles as he began pushing forward and into him. 

Completely submerged, Miles’ directing hand joins the other as he lowers himself to planking forearms, face mere inches from Alex’. He swallows around a citrusy, kind of over-sensitive pleasure, eyes sweeping shut in meditation over that taut, almost unyielding grab Alex has on him.

It’s dreaming with his eyes open - the sight of Miles’ face contoured in such agonizing bliss. Alex feels his own tight bind swallowing Miles’ barely malleable firmness, the way that even following their first reunion, Alex’ body bites around the thickness entering it. It infects him with chills, and a mounting desperation for movement. 

As if reading his mind, Miles bends his knees, settling onto his shins as his hips begin rocking in shallow, faint ticks that could barely be counted as thrusts, seeing it in Alex’ willowy eyes that now was the time to take it slow. 

Alex sighs in pleasure as Miles’ mouth attaches to his jaw, and tremors when Miles groans contently into his skin, the vibration chording directly to his cock, that lays sensitive and wet between their bellies. 

“T-touch me?” Alex whispered around a fragile desire, his eyes rolling shut in a wispy moan once Miles’ fingers gripped him, his fists clenching into balls as velvety sounds fell from his parted mouth.

Upturning his hands in slick, dewy pumps, Miles led Alex to mantle his tensed arms around the man’s neck, clinging tight, panting along with his frequent squeaks and the occasional slur of encouragement. 

The blanket-abolished bed jerks along with them, the wooden headboard jutting out to tap the wall with each force of Miles’ hips. A languid loop of Miles’ precise thrust, Alex high moan, the squeaking bed frame, and repeat. Accompanying their pattern, plays the settled weather; now only sighs of the wind against the window, and odd episodes of rainfall. 

Alex holds Miles close now, feeling the man’s hot breath against his nape, his hand on Alex’ weeping length, the arm curled under his shoulders, bracing Alex as protectively as the boy clutched to Miles. 

“C-close, I’m close.” Alex breathes, his back arching upwards in suspense as Miles hastens the generous tugs on his cock. “Oh, god.” His chest tightened, toes curling, eyes latching shut. His hanging mouth goes dry as a hot dampness pooled between their bodies. “ _ Fuck. _ ” He whined fiercely, riding out his lasting orgasim in twitches of his body, this vision unfocusing for an endless minute. 

“God, Alex,” Miles moaned, the two words merging into the same thing; judging by the worship etched on the man’s face. The sheer clench of Alex’ climax suffocates his cock, wringing him out for everything he’s worth. “M’gonna cum, babeh…” he warns in a hoarse tone, hips lunging that much harder, that much deeper inside the spent slighter. 

Alex’ afterglow had swallowed him; his eyes glued shut, cheeks flushed pink, his mouth hanging open in a deft ‘O’.

Miles can’t help but crack a loving smile at the sight of him - his own expression melting into one of vigor as his brows pinch, his pleasure mounting, heightening rapidly until he feels himself spilling. Rooting himself beneath that squeezing compression, Miles buries a strained groan into the boy’s shoulder, his tension filling Alex in his angelic, undone state. 

Considering Miles had peeked just earlier, Alex is astonished at how long this release lasts, feeling Miles’ body undoing over him, not only the warmth entering him but the entire dispense of Miles’ orgasim. It has Alex holding him so close, it’s a wonder they don’t merged into one.

Without the intention of it, they pass out then and there; Miles’ body vined over Alex’, everything out in the open, bodies and thoughts exposed. 

“Do ye know I love you?” Miles inclusively whispered when their eyes lock after who knows how much sleep, covering Alex’ hot face in clumsy, gentle kisses. 

“I do actually, yes.” He breathed smilingly, damp hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, the burn to his cheeks now a mere pink. He dragged his nails over Miles’ shaven head once more, his hand decending to shamelessly grab an asscheek. 

Miles snorted to the wordless grope, kissing Alex to the temple, absently dragging his fingertips over the mess between them before sticking his Alex-flavoured digits into his mouth. 

The boy bit his lip, “never gonna get used to watchin’ tha’.” He snickered, his arms unlatching from around Miles to exhaustedly flop either side of his body. 

Swallowing Alex’ come, Miles rolled his eyes, “I’m eliminating the need for a shower.” He informed jokingly, forcing Alex to scoff at his case, inhaling deeply.

_ “Well, _ I’m hungry, so get off of me bed and into the kitchen, I’m cravin’ tha’ soup ye do.” His palms came to uncurl over Miles’ chest, urging the grinning creature to let off, both hissing as Miles pulled out slowly - always stopping to admire the sight of his chrism shedding from Alex’ body. His eyes bonded to the sight, how it charged his entire body with pride and belonging. 

Alex clearing his throat speared the thought down. “If yer done sightseeing,” Alex droned, sitting up, his head too heavy in that his forehead met Miles’ chest, “dunno ‘bout you but I worked up  _ quite _ the appetite.” Miles wrapped his arms around Alex’ bowing body, uncaring of the sticky mixture gluing them, “if ye can walk, I’m with ye.” 

“Miles Kane, everyone.” He deadpanned scoldingly, giving Miles a playful shove as he shuffled off the bed, scoping out a pair of dry pants.  

Miles’ premonition is confirmed when Alex’ knees shake as he stands, though this round he laughs and allows Miles a moment to revel in his handiwork, though not without an array of his own jabs at the Scouser.

They slid out of that note and into the weightlessness of a hot shower, one wherein Alex sat with his back against the shower wall and his arse on the tiles, shampooing with his aching legs crossed, and Miles’ smirking inwardly above him.

2

In the days that followed, Miles and Alex fell back into the swing of each other, their lives entwined once more, as if nothing had slipped. Though both understood the value in their squabbles and tiffs, the underlying lesson each spat revealed about the other’s vulnerability. 

The pair had arrived so close to an end in their linking; nothing quite like a dice with death to make one appreciate life, moreover the life that lived in places one forgot to look. It coated their exchanges in a faint, whispered desperation, or fear of such a separation. 

Perhaps this cling that upheld for the first month could be accredited to this peril, the thin thread their relationship had for a brief moment hung by. And as is the nature of hard lessons, the two learned from it, as did they return learning the stories etched into one other. Their exchanges between the covers and the outside world, but also the tales sketched into their forms; the special coves Miles found in Alex and the trigger words the boy abused to their fullest. 

A thick, scolding happiness occupied Alex’ chest. Life paraded around him just as it always had, only now Alex was dying to get in on the musicial - fill the position of the frontman in his own fucking show. 

Though around the saturation and keening for extension, were the bumps of blue and grey; the bricks that couldn’t help but fall to his shoulders on an off day. 

And that’s where assistance was welcomed in a way it had never been. Problems, to Alex’ bitterness, weren’t bred to wash away overnight. Something unpleasant had been planted at some point, and with the aid of Miles’ relentless coddles and suffocating love, plus the by-monthly therapy sessions, Alex was getting a handle. It meant legions to know he had the means to mend himself in some regard. Powerless had become all too familiar in his experience. 

So, Jarvis had welcomed him back with that lined smile, the scent of his earthy tea, and the click of his pen. 

Amongst these easing changes in Alex and Miles’ melded lives, came the harder tasks they’d more or less set themselves up for. But in knowing the other was just an ask for help away, the couple were able to psych themselves up for possibly the most dreaded deed yet: spilling their guts to the lads. 

They’d spent a long, antisocial, writhing week together before the spell was broken, and reality’s obligations joined their party. 

Miles had been the one to bring it up, though not without the knowledge that it’d been on Alex’ mind for the last few days. He could see the itch under Alex’ skin to have Matthew’s advice, knowing the words he sought could never be found at the bottom of any glass. 

Knowing Alex took and held the assurance Miles cuddled him with, the man knew he could never replace Matt’s unbiased, outsider view, or the bond that had sat their long before he ever came along. 

And it showed. He saw the guilt coil inside as the boy declined the calls from his friend, or the myriad of texts from Nick and Jamie that had his nose scrunching in shame as he spelled out some sugar-coated text.

“Friday. We’ll do it Friday.” Miles declared, sliding a box of cereal into an overhead pantry compartment, “rip the bandaid off.” 

He caught the anxious look on the boy’s face as he passed Miles a can of soup to stock away, the worry lines ledging his forehead, the avoidance of eye contact. 

“Uh, I don’t know if…” Alex opposed weakly, knowing full well his time for procrastinating was up. He felt Miles’ eyes on him as he tugged off his hoodie and flung it in the general direction of the living room, making Miles groan to himself,  _ hang it over the chair. _

“Alex, love,” he restarted soothingly, rounding the counter to collect the discarded item, “they love you so much,” he continued, tossing the hoodie to the hamper before resuming his pantry packing. 

“Not after this they won't.” Alex mumbled to Miles’ reasoning, picking at a loose thread on his shirt where he sat - Miles’ shirt, the boy had offly noticed when they’d loaded up for a trip to the supermarket. 

The two had realised, that as fun as banging forever and subsequently starving to death sounded, they’d eventually have to pull their pants up and by some bloody food. 

Miles sighed, folding the cotton shopping back away to round the bench once more, huffing a smile when Alex instantly wrapped his arms around Miles from where he sat, smooshing his face into Miles’ abs in an attempt to smother himself. 

Alex muffled something almost akin to a sentence into Miles’ torso, leading the lad to pull the boy to arms length, feeling one of Alex’ arms curl around his hips groundingly. 

“I’m sc-” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I sound like a broken record. I’m scared...I’m scared they’ll,” the groaned, scrunching his face up and forcing his distressed sounds into Miles’ body once more. “For fucksake, okay fine.” He blurted out, as if the words were burning his tongue, “I’ll call them after we take a shower.” 

Miles appreciated the fact that he was working with him on this, it wasn’t going to be easy on anyone. Though he gave Alex a pointed look to that last part, “after we take a shower?” He echoed, detecting the shift. He clicked his tongue, honing a doubtful expression. “Didn’t we just ‘ave one this morning?” 

“I would happily drag you through the yard.” Alex gritted cheekily, leaning up into Miles space to capture his lips. Intentionally slackening his mouth, loosening his tongue to lure his boyfriend with a raw, slow kiss. 

Suddenly feeling a mite dirty, Miles of course had no choice but to throw Alex over his shoulder, moving towards the bedroom to create a new mess. 

 

When Friday does roll in, Alex is a fidgety mess, only realising as much when Miles reached over to lightly squeeze his hand, causing a worried smile to find his lips as he lifted his eyes. Finding the other three sets regarding him, Alex’ heart gunned in his chest, his palm sweaty in Miles’.

“Y-you mean you-” Nick sputtered, hauling Alex back to the situation he’d spun into. “Y-you mean to tell me, oh my  _ god, _ I - I have to - I gotta sit down.” He flustered just as Jamie had stood from his own seat, one lad filling the other’s place as Cookie’s own disbelief ripped him out of his position. “How am I this oblivious?” Jamie groaned, moving in the direction of Alex’ pantry.

“Cookeh, what are ye-” Miles began, his query shoved off my another remark-

“Booze.” He announced obviously, “Al thinks I don’t know where he keeps ‘is stash.” Jamie revealed as he hunts through the special self for the right poison. 

Alex released a shaky breath, clearing his throat as his eyes found Matthew. He was sat up like a plank in a single sofa-chair Miles had lugged home a while back, staring down at his hands with an unreadable expression.

“Matt, Matthew, I…” 

It was painfully overt how tense the living room had grown, the indisputable edge they were all on, though what had Alex expected? When he’d stuffed them all into this enerved space, like this was some sort of intervention. 

He made a helpless noise, letting go of Miles’ hand to drop his head into his own clammy ones, his breath shaky even as Miles rubbed his back soothingly. 

“Oi, get this in ye.” Jamie says from above his sunken head, Alex lifts his eyes to find a shot glass between the guitarist's calloused fingers and a sad smile on his face. Alex inhales sharply, nodding as he accepts the spirits. 

Alex downs it in one, the harsh sting at the back of his throat almost a pinch back into reality, he gracelessly sets the dainty glass down over the low table, pushing a breath out. 

“He…” Matthew’s voice came through, cutting Alex off before he opened his mouth, his tone as uncertain as his eyes. “He used you?” 

Alex’ face fell, his chest clenching but when Miles sat up to speak, the boy placed a hand on his shoulder to halt him. 

“We...used each other, Matt.” Alex uttered liably, watching as the broad shouldered lad blew a long breath out. Matt shook his head in protest to himself, “I mean, ‘ow much was for show? And ‘ow much were just... Alex and Miles?” 

The boy bit his bottom lip, “I…” he swallowed, “I can’t really speak for Miles, but-”

“It were all real.” Miles intruded, and when Alex turned, the boy found his sight locked to Matt’s. “F-for me…” Miles continued as Alex blinked at him, watching that returned gaze from Matthew. “I can’t think of a moment where... I weren’t worried…” he sighed, shaking his head faintly, “or  _ wonderin’  _ where he was or ‘ow he was doin’.”

Matthew was silent for a moment - everyone was - before he was exhaling loudly, “fuckin’ ‘ell, Jameh, bring me the bottle.” He groaned frankly, his face unlatching into that Helders ease as Jamie screwed the cap on, tossing the bourbon to the unhindered state Matt had returned to. 

“Jesus, fuck Helders.” Alex exhaled, holding a hand to his heart as a smile was allowed to emerge across his face. 

“Yeah,” Nick chimed in, “remind me to never get on  _ yer _ bad side.” He chuckled, while contradictingly swiping the bottle from Helders, topping up the five glasses Jamie had lined the table with. 

As they all snatched up their drinks - more than grateful for the relieved pressure - Jamie suggested a toast, to which Alex snorted, “m’just ‘appy I came outta tha’ alive.” Which Miles in turn shoved him for, kissing his cheek smilingly. 

They all lifted their glasses, Alex’ having already been refilled twice, and looked at each other with determination for an honest, genuine future. 

“I  _ also _ have an a-announcement.” Nick babbled four shots in, “I’m a- a- a russian spy sent to seduce you all!” 

“ _ And _ this is me cutting you off.” Alex smiled, passing the pretty much empty bottle to Miles as Nick scrunched his nose annoyedly, “nark.” He grumbled, Jamie petting him on the shoulder. 

It would be inexact to say they’d gotten a little pissed, when really Alex had passed out beyond midnight to a hangover-embracing morning, and an unruly, wobbly written note from either Matt, Nick, Jamie or literally all of them simultaneously. Something about loving him and someone recalling an old school story that trailed off the page. He giggled to himself, his throat raspy when he called out for Miles, noticing the Scouser wasn’t draped over the couch as Alex was. 

“Y-yeah...I - I know…” Miles was saying quietly, stepping into the living room with Alex’ phone to his ear, face lighting to sight of the awoken boy, “he’s actually just ‘ere if you wanted to - oh, alright then...yeah, okay, have a nice one Penny.” He smiled, looking away from Alex as he hung up, holding the device out for the man to take.

“M’sorrey, I just...I don’t know, she called an’...I don’t know.” He smiled nervously and it appeared as though he genuinely didn’t know. Unaffected, Alex just gave him a sleepy smile, sliding his phone across the table to reach up for him. 

“Tryna get back in me ma’s good books, eh?” He teased, making room on the sofa for Miles. 

The lad’s face cooled when he saw that Alex held nothing against the phone call, sitting down beside the boy. “One can only hope.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his shaved head. 

Alex nodded, sighing as he moved to lie with his head in Miles’ lap. He blinked up at him before slipping his eyes closed, “god I’m so tired, thank fuck I don’t ‘ave a day job.” 

Miles laughed to this, nodding as he cards his fingers through Alex’ hair, casually pulling part of a potato chip out, recalling the cash-less bout of poker they’d drunkenly attempted. “Don’t blame ye, should ‘ave seen Jameh though,” he snickered, “barely got ‘im into tha’ taxi.” 

Alex giggled, opening his eyes to smile gently up at Miles, “thank you.” He whispered, causing Miles to lean in, inches away as he murmured, “for what, love?”

Alex gave him a peck on the lips, “just, thank you.”

3

With their minds loosened from toil of enlightening the lads, those concurrent knots teething into Miles’ and Alex’ stomachs had at last undone, leaving behind only the absence of such a guilt and sinking dishonesty.

With this liberating, lifted unease, Alex felt able to venture past certain barriers he’d once deemed necessary; into areas he’d for so long avoided touching again. The main exhibit in the sense, being Alex’ cosmic, measureless bond to music. 

The man had formulated a bookstore of words in tribute to Miles’ exit, and in hindsight, recalled just how certain he’d been in knowing his diet for life would be forevermore Miles-free. How unreal such a time felt to him now, how imaginary such misery had morphed into. 

Now, with all previously heartbroken things considered, it was between days in his music studio, and the encouragement of Miles that Alex had garnered a good stack of contribution, donations of his thoughts he wanted to bring to the Monkeys. Novels of lyrics, the foundations, or fragments of compositions that he waited in anticipation for; seeking out his friend’s input and modifications where craved. 

All in all, Alex’ syzygy to music had found him once more, and it felt beautifully permanent. 

One late evening - or early morning - after Alex’ latest phone call with Nick on rehearsal locations, and the following, unspeakable hours of guitar recitation, Miles was deftly prying the instrument from the boy’s limp arms. 

Setting the honey-glossed Les Paul over it’s cradle, Miles paused himself in his deed of having Alex’ head find an actual pillow, to regard the complete ball of exhaustion he’d morphed into. His slumped form bonelessly spread over the daybed, as if someone had tossed him over the mattress, his jutted lips and steady, content breathing.

Miles pursed his lips around an endearing smile, bending his knees by the edge of mattress to hook his arms under Alex’ rugged up, sleeping body, carrying the productive creature to bed. 

Late into the morning the proceeding day, Alex tells Miles over a bowl of cereal that all three of his bandmates had locked into the plan of a reuniting rehearsal. 

“The monday after we get back.” Alex slurped horridly around a mouthful of cornflakes, causing Miles to wince and pass him a paper towel over the bench. 

“Thanks, babe.” The boy returned after a swallow, wiping his mouth to reveal a wide grin, one that twirled a pirouette of warmth inside Miles’ chest. 

He nodded to the seated lad as he swallowed a bag of butterflies, returning to load to dishwasher. “The monday after we get back.” He then reiterated, as if hinting for reality to bring him back to it, soon recalling the implied schedule with such unbridled fondness.

Miles found himself occupied by a compound of nervousness, and utter thrill at the prospect of what was to come this approaching week. 

Meeting Alex’ parents had been on his radar the second he’d noted the lad’s eyes, wondering who he got that deep brown from, or that one particular smirk where just one side of his mouth offered a curl. Which parts he’d inherited and which were simply Alex. It was a mystery Miles had happily set sail to uncover when the boy’s Mother had called, leaving positively no room for discussion when insisting they visit. 

A whole week to prove himself to Penny and David. To display how completely fucked he was when Alex laughed at anything he said, how immortal one inside joke with their son made him feel. The idea of existing in this certain cubile of Alex’ life brought such euphoria to him, and the concept of his boyfriend one day meeting Miles’ own folks sparked a silly joy into him. 

Alex was humbled to find excitement where he’d been certain to find nerves, or possibly hesitance when he pictured Miles in his childhood home, with his family and oldest friends lovingly picking him apart as the shiny new toy. It had him humming contently as he stuffed his suitcase into the boot, slamming the overhead door shut as he rounded the car. 

He rolled his eyes in reply to the childish grin he felt stretching his lips, sliding into the front passenger seat, his body swirling in a tingly, adolescent rainbow of joy. 

Alex found that when feeling so good, his mind often double-checked there remained no reason to feel stunted, or lost. In this moment, as had been the routine of his search for misery, Alex gladly came up short - his mind the pinnacle of safe and sound. 

The faint memory of a tether to a certain ex cropped up once or twice during these scans. And where Alex waited in suspense for a longing or dread over him, the boy found nothing but a distant idea of that once unbreakable chord to Julian - though the memory of something he’d seen online did often float up; Jules holding a woman with sandy brown hair, and a grin Alex begged the universe to let last. It made him smile in hope for the other man’s future. 

He hoped that wherever the American was in the world, he was well. They both deserved a clean slate. 

As for the rest of their viewers - the people who held Alex’ and Miles’ music close to their hearts, the ones who stuck around and supported them where they sought the strength to support themselves - the two decided to leave it to the buzzing minds of their fans. 

In the end, the world was welcome to believe what it liked, though Alex and Miles knew exactly how their story went. And as Alex pulled the passenger door shut behind him, buckling up as Miles texted his Mum that they were leaving now, he knew there would never again be anything fiction between the two. 

 

~FIN~   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, it is done!  
> I can't express how much it's meant to receive such support for this fic, and holy moly the amount of welcomes into the fandom! Thank you to everyone who reached out beyond ao3 - you know who you are - and those who took the time to leave those way-too-nice comments! It's been a blast, see you round!!


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